rma 
,1 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 

Mr .  Vivian ' Dyer 


• 


s 


THE  HISTORY 


OP  THE  INGENIOUS  GENTLEMAN 


DON   QUIXOTE 


OF 


LA  MANCHA; 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  SPANISH 
BY  MOTTEUX. 


WITH  COPIOUS  NOTES;  AND  AN   ESSAY  ON   THE   LIFE 
AND   WRITINGS  OF  CERVANTES, 


BY  JOHN  G.  LOCKHART,  ESQ. 


IN  FOUR  VOLUMES. 
YOL.  I. 


BOSTON: 
LITTLE,   BROWN   AND   COMPANY, 

1865. 


a  I  v  E  R  s  I  D  E ,    CAMBRIDGE: 

PRINTED    BY    H.  O.   HOTTGHTON    AMD   COMPANY. 


STEREOTYPED    BY   STONE   AND   SMART. 


PUBLISHERS'  ADVERTISEMENT. 


THIS  edition  of  Don  Quixote  is  an  exact  reprint  of 
that  edited  by  Mr.  LOCKHART,  and  published  in  five  vo- 
lumes at  Edinburgh,  in  1822.  It  was  then  that  the  trans- 
lations of  the  Spanish  Ballads  first  appeared,  and.  although 
Mr.  Lockhart  did  not  place  his  name  in  the  title-page,  he 
is  well  known  to  be  the  translator  of  the  Ballads,  and  to 
have  edited  the  edition.  We  give  from  Blackwood's  Maga- 
zine of  June,  1822,  by  way  of  preface,  a  notice  of  Mr. 
Lockhart's  notes  and  criticisms,  and  of  the  character  of 
Motteux's  translation : 

"  We  have  had  in  England  no  less  than  four  distinct 
translations  of  the  best  of  all  romances,  and  none  of  them 
bad  ones ;  but  it  strikes  us  as  something  very  strange,  that 
until  now  we  should  never  have  had  any  edition  whatever 
of  any  one  of  these  translations,  containing  notes,  to  render 
the  text  intelligible.  The  few  miserable  scraps,  commonly 
found  at  the  foot  of  the  page,  in  the  editions  either  of 
Smollett  or  Motteux,  are  not  worth  mentioning.  The  text 
of  Don  Quixote,  full  as  it  is  of  allusions  to  history  and 
romance,  remained,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  without 
annotation,  comment,  or  explanation ;  and  of  course,  of  the 
readers  of  Don  Quixote,  very  few  ever  understood  the 
meaning  of  Cervantes.  A  thousand  of  his  happiest  hits 


rv  PUBLISHERS'  ADVERTISEMENT. 

went  for  nothing ;  and  a  Spanish  reader,  with  a  transla- 
tion of  the  bare  text  of  Shakspeare  in  his  hands,  had  just 
as  good  a  chance  to  understand  Shakspeare,  as  the  English 
reader  had  to  understand  the  author,  who,  though  writing 
in  a  different  form,  is,  perhaps  more  than  any  other  the 
world  has  produced,  entitled  to  be  classed  with  Shak- 
speare. 

"  This  great  blank  has  now  been  ably  and  fully  supplied ; 
and  the  English  reader  is  in  possession  of  an  edition  of 
Don  Quixote,  not  only  infinitely  superior  to  any  that  ever 
before  appeared  in  England,  but,  so  far  as  we  are  able  to 
judge,  much  more  complete  and  satisfactory  than  any  one 
which  exists  in  the  literature  of  Spain  herself. 

"  The  text  used  is  that  of  MOTTETJX,  and  this  is,  we 
think,  out  of  all  sight,  the  richest  and  best  —  although  the 
editor  himself  seems  to  hint,  now  and  then,  something  not 
unlike  a  partiality  for  the  much  older  version  of  Shelton. 
Shelton's  Quixote  is  undoubtedly  well  worthy  of  being 
studied  by  the  English  scholar ;  but  it  is  far  too  antiquated 
an  affair  to  serve  the  purposes  of  the  English  reader. 
That  of  Motteux  is,  if  not  so  literally  accurate,  quite  as 
essentially  and  substantially  so ;  and  Motteux,  the  trans- 
lator of  Cervantes  and  Rabelais,  -possesses  a  native  humour 
which  no  other  translator  that  we  ever  met  with  has  ap- 
proached. 

"  The  notes,  read  continuously,  and  without  reference  to 
the  text  they  so  admirably  illustrate,  would  form  a  most 
delightful  book.  Indeed,  what  can  be  more  interesting  than 
such  a  collection  of  rare  anecdotes,  curious  quotations  from 
forgotten  books,  and  beautiful  versions  of  most  beautiful 
ballads  ?  Printed  in  a  volume  by  themselves,  these  notes 


PUBLISHERS'  ADVERTISEMENT.  v 

to  Don  Quixote  would  constitute  one  of  the  most  enter- 
taining Ana  in  our  language,  or  in  any  other  that  we  are 
acquainted  with.  But,  above  all,  to  the  student  of  Spanish, 
who  attacks  the  Don  in  the  original,  they  must  be  altogether 
invaluable,  for  Cervantes'  allusions  to  the  works  of  Spanish 
authors,  particularly  his  own  contemporaries,  are  so  nume- 
rous, that  when  Don  Quixote  appeared,  it  was  regarded  by 
the  literati  of  Madrid  almost  as  a  sort  of  Spanish  Dunciad" 


CONTENTS 


VOLUME    FIRST, 


PAGE 

LIFE  OF  CERVANTES, vii 

The  Author's  Preface  to  the  Reader, 1 


PART   I.  — BOOK   I. 

CHAPTER  I. 

The  Quality  and  Way  of  Living  of  the  renowned  Don 
Quixote  de  la  Mancha, 13 

CHAPTER  H. 
Of  Don  Quixote's  first  Sally, 21 

CHAPTER  HI. 

An  Account  of  the  pleasant  Method  taken  by  Don  Quixote 
to  be  dubbed  a  Knight, 31 

CHAPTER  IV. 
What  befell  the  Knighf  after  he  had  left  the  Inn,    ...    40 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  further  Account  of  our  Knight's  Misfortunes,      ...    60 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PACK 

CHAPTER  VI 

Of  the  pleasant  and  curious  Scrutiny  which  the  Curate 
and  the  Barber  made  of  the  Library  of  our  ingenious 
Gentleman, 56 

CHAPTER  VH. 

Don  Quixote's  second  Sally  in  quest  of  Adventures,      .      .67 

CHAPTER  Vm. 

Of  the  good  Success  which  the  valorous  Don  Quixote  had 
in  the  most  terrifying  and  never-to-be-imagined  Adven- 
ture of  the  Wind-Mills,  with  other  Transactions  worthy 
to  be  transmitted  to  Posterity, 75 


PART   I.  — BOOK   II. 

CHAPTER  I. 

The  Event  of  the  most  stupendous  Combat  between  the 
brave  Biscavan  and  the  valorous  Don  Quixote,  .      .      .87 

CHAPTER  II. 

What  farther  befell  Don  Quixote  with  the  Biscayan ;  and 
of  the  Danger  he  ran  among  a  parcel  of  Yanguesians,      .     95 

CHAPTER  HI. 

What  passed  between  Don  Quixote  and  the  Goat-herds,     .  1 03 

CHAPTER  TV. 

The  Story  which  a  young  Goat-herd  told  to  those  that  were 
with  Don  Quixote, 110 


CONTENTS.  V 

* 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  Continuation  of  the  Story  of  Marcella, 119 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  unfortunate  Shepherd's  Verses,  and  other  unexpected 
Matters, 132 


PART   I.  — BOOK   III. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Giving  an  Account  of  Don  Quixote's  unfortunate  Ren- 
counter with  certain  bloody-minded  and  wicked  Yan- 
guesian  Carriers, 142 

CHAPTER  H. 

What  happened  to  Don  Quixote  in  the  Inn  which  he  took 
for  a  Castle, •  .  152 

CHAPTER  HI. 

A  further  Account  of  the  innumerable  Hardships  which  the 
brave  Don  Quixote,  and  his  worthy  Squire  Sancho  un- 
derwent in  the  Inn,  which  the  Knight  unluckily  took  for 
a  Castle, .163 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Of  the  Discourse  between  the  Knight  and  the  Squire,  with 
other  Matters  worth  relating, 175 

CHAPTER  V. 
Of  the  wise  Discourse  between  Sancho  and  his  Master ;  as 

VOL.    I.  A 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

also  of  the  Adventure  of  the  dead  Corpse,  and  other  fa- 
mous Occurrences, 190 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Of  a  wonderful  Adventure  achieved  by  the  valorous  Don 
Quixote  de  la  Mancha ;  the  like  never  compassed  with 
less  danger  by  any  of  the  most  famous  Knights  in  the 
World,  .  . 201 

CHAPTER  VH. 

Of  the  high  Adventure  and  Conquest  of  Mambrino's  Hel- 
met, with  other  Events  relating  to  our  invincible  Knight,  219 

CHAPTER  VHI. 

How  Don  Quixote  set  free  many  miserable  Creatures,  who 
were  carrying,  much  against  their  wills,  to  a  place  they 
did  not  like, 236 

CHAPTER  IX. 

What  befell  the  renowned  Don  Quixote  in  the  Sierra  Mo- 
rena,  (Black  Mountain,)  being  one  of  the  rarest  Adven- 
tures in  this  authentic  History,  .......  251 

CHAPTER  X. 

The  Adventure  in  the  Sierra  Moreria  continued,    .       .       .  268 

NOTES, 283 


THE 


LIFE    OF    CERVANTES, 


•  ALTHOUGH  Miguel  de  Cervantes  Saavedra  was 
not  only  the  brightest  genius  of  his  age  and 
country,  but  a  man  of  active  life  and  open  man- 
ners, and  engaged  personally  in  many  interesting 
transactions  of  his  time,  there  are,  nevertheless, 
few  distinguished  men  of  letters  who  have  left 
behind  them  more  scanty  materials  of  biogra- 
phy. His  literary  reputation  was  not  of  the 
highest  order  till  Don  Quixote  made  it  so  ;  and 
ere  then  he  had  outlived  the  friends  and  com- 
panions of  his  youthful  adventures,  and  with- 
drawn into  a  life  of  comparative  privacy  and 
retirement.  In  the  age  immediately  succeeding 
his  own,  abundant  exertions  were  made  to  dis- 
cover the  scattered  and  faded  traces  of  his 
career ;  but  with  what  very  indifferent  success 
is  well  known  to  all  acquainted  with  the  literary 
history  of  Spain.  More  recently,  the  life  of 
Cervantes  has  been  elaborately  written,  both  by 
the  best  of  his  commentators,  Don  Juan  Pellicer, 


VU1  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

and  by  Don  Vincente  de  los  Rios,  editor  of  the 
Spanish  Academy's  superb  edition  of  Don  Quix- 
ote ;  but  neither  of  these  has,  after  all,  been  able 
to  add  much  to  the  original  naked  outline  which 
guided  their  researches. 

Cervantes  was  by  birth  a  gentleman,  being 
descended  from  an  ancient  family,  originally  of 
Galicia,  many  branches  of  which  were,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  honorably 
settled  in  Toledo,  Seville,  and  Alcarria.  Rod- 
rigo  de  Cervantes,  his  father,  seems  to  have  re- 
sided, for  the  most  part,  at  Alcala  de  Henares, 
where,  thirty  years  before  the  birth  of  his  son, 
the  second  university  of  Spain  was  founded  by 
the  munificent  Cardinal  Ximenes.  His  mother, 
Donna  Leonora  de  Cortenas,  was  also  a  lady  of 
gentle  birth.  The  parish  register  shows  that  he 
was  baptized  on  the  9th  of  October,  1547. 

His  parents,  whose  circumstances  were  the 
reverse  of  affluent,  designed  their  son  for  one 
of  the  learned  professions;  and  being  most  pro- 
bably of  opinion  that  his  education  would  pro- 
ceed better  were  it  conducted  at  some  distance 
from  their  own  residence,  they  sent  him  early 
to  Madrid,  where  he  spent  several  years  under 
the  direction  of  a  philologer  and  theologian, 
(famous  in  his  day,)  by  name  Juan  Lopez  de 
Hoyos.  This  erudite  person  superintended,  early 
in  1569,  the  publication  of  certain  academical 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  IX 

Lucius,  on  occasion  of  the  death  of  the  queen  ; 
and,  among  the  rest,  there  appear  an  elegy  and 
a  balkid,  both  written,  as  the  editor  expresses  it, 
by  his  "  dear  and  beloved  disciple  Miguel  de  Cer- 
vantes." Doctor  Lopez  de  Hoyos  seems  to  have 
been  in  the  custom  of  putting  forth,  now  and 
then,  little  volumes  of  poetical  miscellanies, 
chiefly  composed  by  himself;  and  we  have  Cer- 
vantes' own  authority  *  for  the  fact,  that  the 
doctor's  "  dear  disciple "  contributed  to  these 
publications  Filena,  a  pastoral  poem  of  some 
length,  besides  a  great  variety  of  sonnets,  can- 
zonets, ballads,  and  other  juvenile  essays  of  ver- 
sification. 

These  attempts,  in  themselves  sufficiently 
trifling,  had  probably  excited  some  little  atten- 
tion; for  Cervantes,  in  the  summer  of  1569,  ac- 
companied the  Cardinal  Julio  Aquaviva  from 
Madrid  to  Rome,  where  he  resided  for  more  than 
twelve  months  as  chamberlain  to  his  eminence. 
This  situation,  which,  according  to  the  manners 
of  those  days,  would  have  been  coveted  by  per- 
sons much  his  superiors  both  in  birth  and  in  for- 
tune, may  in  reality  have  been  serviceable  to  the 
development  of  young  Cervantes'  genius,  as  af- 
fording him  early  and  easy  introduction  to  the 
company  both  of  the  polite  and  of  the  learned  ; 
for  among  the  first  of  both  of  these  classes  the 

*  In  the  Viage  de  Parnasso. 


X  LIFE   OP   CERVANTES. 

Cardinal  Aquaviva  lived.  But  the  uniformity 
and  stately  repose  of  a  great  ecclesiastic's  esta- 
blishment was  probably  little  suited  to  the' incli- 
nations of  the  young  and  ardent  Spaniard,  for. 
he  seems  to  have  embraced,  without  hesitation, 
the  first  opportunity  of  quitting  the  cardinal's 
mansion  for  scenes  of  a  more  stirring  character. 
On  the  29th  of  May,  1571,  there  was  signed 
at  Rome  the  famous  treaty  between  Philip  II., 
the  Papal  See,  and  the  Venetian  Senate,  in  con- 
sequence of  which  the  naval  forces  of  those  three 
powers  were  immediately  combined  into  one 
fleet,  for  the  purpose  of  checking  the  progress 
of  the  Turkish  navies  in  the  Mediterranean. 
Don  Juan  of  Austria,  natural  son  of  Charles  V. 
and  brother  to  the  reigning  King  of  Spain,  was 
intrusted  with  the  supreme  command  of  the 
Christian  armament,  and  the  young  gentlemen 
both  of  Spain  and  Italy  flocked  in  multitudes 
to  act  as  volunteers  under  his  already  famous 
standard.  Cervantes  quitted  Rome  amidst  the 
first  enthusiasm  of  the  universal  preparation ; 
and  having  enlisted  under  Colonna,  the  General 
of  the  Papal  galleys,  joined  with  him  the  fleet 
of  Don  Juan  ere  it  commenced  the  cruise  which 
terminated  in  the  battle  of  Lepanto.  He  was 
present  on  that  eventful  day ;  and  as  he  himself 
says,  (in  the  preface  to  the  Second  Part  of  Don 
Quixote,]  considered  the  loss  of  his  left  hand, 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  XI 

(which  was  struck  off  in  the  course  of  the  ac- 
tion by  a  blow  of  a  scymetar,)  as  a  "  trifling 
price  to  pay  for  the  honor  of  partaking  in  the 
first  great  action  in  which  the  naval  supremacy 
of  the  Ottoman  was  successfully  disputed  by 
Christian  arms."  The  season  being  far  ad- 
vanced, the  victorious  fleet  withdrew  immedi- 
ately after  this  action  to  Messina,  where  Cer- 
vantes' wound  compelled  him  to  spend  some 
weeks  in  the  hospital.  Although  his  hand  had 
been  cut  off  close  by  the  wrist,  the  whole  of 
that  arm  remained  ever  after  quite  stiff  and  use- 
less ;  partly,  it  is  most  probable,  in  consequence 
of  the  unskilfulness  of  the  surgeons  who  at- 
tended on  him. 

This  very  serious  misfortune  did  not,  how- 
ever, extinguish  his  military  ardor,  for  he  sailed 
with  the  same  fleet  in  the  following  summer, 
and  was  present  at  several  descents,  on  the  coast 
of  the  Morea ;  one  of  which  he  has  described  in 
Don  Quixote  in  the  person  of  the  Captain  De 
Viedma.  At  the  end  of  1572,  when  the  great 
naval  armament  in  which  he  had  hitherto  served 
was  dissolved,  he  passed  into  the  regular  ser- 
vice of  his  own  sovereign.  The  company  he 
joined  was  stationed  at  Naples,  and  there  he  re- 
mained with  it  for  three  years  ;  without  rising, 
or  perhaps  hoping  to  rise,  above  the  condition 
of  a  private  soldier.  It  must  be  had  in  mind, 


Xll  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

however,  that  this  rank  was  in  those  days  so 
far  from  being  held  dishonorable  or  degrading, 
that  men  of  the  very  highest  birth  and  fortune 
were,  almost  without  exception,  accustomed  to 
spend  some  time  in  it  ere  they  presumed  to 
expect  any  situation  of  authority.  Thus,  for 
example,  the  Anne  de  Montmorencies,  the  Lan- 
trecs,  the  Tremouilles,  and  the  Chabannes,  had 
all  distinguished  themselves  as  simple  men-at- 
arms  ere  they  rose  to  any  office  of  command  in 
the  army  of  France ;  and  in  that  of  Spain,  it  is 
well  known  that  the  wise  policy  of  Charles  V. 
had,  long  before  Cervantes'  time,  elevated  the 
halberdier  and  musketeer  to  be  nearly  on  the 
same  footing  with  the  mounted  soldier.  It  is, 
therefore,  a  matter  of  no  great  importance  that 
we  are  left  altogether  ignorant  whether  Cer- 
vantes served  in  the  infantry  or  the  cavalry  dur- 
ing his  residence  at  Naples. 

In  the  autumn  of  1575,  he  was  on  his  way 
from  Italy  to  Spain  ;  it  is  not  known  what  was 
the  motive  of  his  journey ;  when  the  galley  in 
which  he  sailed  was  surrounded  by  some  Moor- 
ish corsairs,  and  he,  with  all  the  rest  of  the 
Christian  crew,  had  the  misfortune  to  be  carried 
immediately  to  Algiers.  He  fell  to  the  share 
of  the  corsair  captain  who  had  taken  him,  an  Al- 
banian, or  Arnaut  renegade,  known  by  the  name 
of  Dali  Mami  the  lame  ;  a  mean  and  cruel  crea- 


LIFE    OF    CERVANTES.  Xlll 

ture,  who  seems  to  have  used  Cervantes  with 
the  utmost  possible  harshness.  Having  a  great 
number  of  slaves  in  his  possession,  he  employed 
the  most  of  them  in  his  galleys,  but  kept  al- 
ways on  shore  such  as  were  likely  to  be  ran- 
somed by  their  friends  in  Europe ;  confining 
them  within  the  walls  of  his  baths,*  and  occa- 
sionally compelling  them  to  labor  in  his  gar- 
dens. Cervantes,  whose  birth  and  condition 
gave  hopes  of  a  considerable  ransom,  spent  the 
greater  part  of  five  years  of  servitude  among 
this  latter  class  of  the  slaves  of  Mami,  undergo- 
ing, however,  as  he  himself  intimates,  even  great- 
er hardships  than  fell  to  the  lot  of  his  compa- 
nions, on  account  of  the  pertinacity  and  skill  with 
which  he  was  continually  forming  schemes  of 
evasion.  The  last  of  these,  at  once  the  boldest 
and  most  deliberate  of  them  all,  was  deficient  of 
complete  success,  only  because  Cervantes  had 
admitted  a  traitor  to  his  counsels. 

Dali  Mami,  the  Arnaut,  had  for  his  friend  a 
brother  renegade,  by  birth  a  Venetian,  who  had 
risen  high  in  the  favor  of  the  king,  and  was 
now  a  man  of  considerable  importance  in  the 
government  of  Algiers :  the  same  Hassan  Aga, 

*  In  the  notes  to  this  edition  of  Don  Quixote  may  be  found 
some  curious  particulars  concerning  these  Baths  and  the  manner 
in  which  the  Christian  captives  of  Cervantes'  age  were  treated 
at  Algiers  and  Tunis.  See  the  Notes  on  the  story  of  Viedma. 


XIV  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

of  whose  ferocious  character  a  full  picture  is 
drawn  in  Don  Quixote  by  the  Captain  de  Vied- 
ma.  Mami  sometimes  made  Cervantes  the  bear- 
er of  messages  to  this  man's  villa,  which  was 
situated  on  the  sea-shore,  about  three  miles  from 
Algiers.  The  gardens  of  this  villa  were  under 
the  management  of  one  of  Hassan's  Christian 
slaves,  a  native  of  Navarre,  with  whom  Cervan- 
tes speedily  formed  acquaintance,  and  whom  he 
ere  long  persuaded  to  undertake  the  formation 
of  a  secret  cave  beneath  the  garden,  capable  of 
sheltering  himself,  and  as  many  as  fifteen  of  his 
brother  captives,  on  whose  patience  and  resolu- 
tion he  had  every  reason  to  place  perfect  reliance. 
The  excavation  being  completed  in  the  utmost 
secrecy,  Cervantes  and  his  associates  made  their 
escape  by  night  from  Algiers,  and  took  posses- 
sion of  their  retreat,  where,  being  supplied  with 
provisions  by  the  gardener  and  another  Chris- 
tian slave  of  Hassan  Aga,  named  or  nick-named 
El  Dorador,  they  remained  for  several  months 
undiscovered,  in  spite  of  the  most  minute  and 
anxious  researches,  both  on  the  part  of  their 
own  masters,  and  of  the  celebrated  Ochali,  then 
tyrant  of  Algiers. 

They  had,  in  the  mean  time,  used  all  their  ex- 
ertions to  procure  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  for 
purchasing  the  freedom  of  one  of  their  compa- 
nions, who  had  staid  behind  them  in  the  city,  a 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  XV 

gentleman  of  Minorca,  by  name  Niana.  This 
gentleman  at  length  obtained  his  liberty  in  the 
month  of  September,  1577,  and  embarked  for 
his  native  island,  from  whence,  according  to  the 
plan  concerted,  he  was  to  return  immediately 
with  a  Spanish  brigantine,  and  so  coming  close 
under  shore,  at  a  certain  hour  of  a  certain  night, 
furnish  Cervantes  and  his  friends  (including  the 
gardener  and  El  Dorador)  with  the  means  of 
completing  their  escape.  Viana  reached  Mi- 
norca in  safety,  procured  without  difficulty  a  suffi- 
cient vessel  from  the  Spanish  viceroy,  and  came 
off  the  coast  of  Barbary,  according  to  his  agree- 
ment ;  but  ere  he  could  effect  his  landing,  the 
alarm  was  given  by  a  Moorish  sentinel,  and*  he 
wisely  put  out  to  sea  again,  being  afraid  of  at- 
tracting any  more  particular  attention  to  the 
place  of  Cervantes'  concealment.  He  and  the 
unfortunate  gentlemen,  his  companions,  were 
aware  of  Yiana's  attempt,  and  of  the  cause  of 
its  failure ;  but  they  knew  Viana  would  not  be 
altogether  discouraged  by  one  such  accident, 
and  had  good  hope  of  ere  long  seeing  his  brig- 
antine again  under  more  happy  auspices.  But 
Hassan's  slave  El  Dorador,  who  had  hitherto 
been,  next  to  the  gardener,  the  most  effectual  in- 
strument of  their  safety,  happened,  just  at  this 
juncture,  to  think  proper  to  renounce  his  Chris- 
tianity, and  it  not  unnaturally  occurred  to  him, 


XVI  LIFE    OF    CERVANTES. 

he  could  not  better  commence  the  career  of  a 
renegade,  than  by  betraying  the  retreat  of  Cer- 
vantes and  his  companions.  Hassan  Aga  conse- 
quently surrounded  the  entrance  to  their  cave, 
with  such  a  force  as  put  all  resistance  out  of  the 
question,  and  the  whole  fifteen  were  conducted 
in  fetters  to  Algiers.  The  others  were  imme- 
diately delivered  into  the  possession  of  their 
former  masters ;  but  Cervantes,  whose  previous 
attempts  at  once  fixed  on  him  the  suspicion  of 
having  headed  the  whole  enterprise,  was  retain- 
ed by  the  king,  in  the  hope  of  extracting  inform- 
ation, and  perhaps  of  discovering  some  accom- 
plices among  the  wealthier  renegades.  It  is 
prtfbable  that  Cervantes  had  no  such  inform- 
ation to  give ;  but,  at  all  events,  he  was  one  of 
the  last  men  in  the  world  to  give  it,  had  he  had 
it  in  his  power.  He  underwent  various  examina- 
tions, declared  himself  on  every  occasion  the  sole 
author  and  contriver  of  the  discovered  plot ; 
and,  at  last,  effectually  exhausted  the  patience 
of  Ochali,  by  the  firmness  of  his  behavior.  The 
savage  Hassan  Aga,  himself  one  of  the  most  ex- 
tensive slave  proprietors  in  Barbary,  exerted  all 
his  influence  to  have  Cervantes  strangled  in  ter- 
rorem ;  but,  although  Ochali  was  not  without 
some  inclination  to  gratify  Hassan  in  this  par- 
ticular, the  representations  of  Dali  Mami,  con- 
cerning the  value  of  his  private  property,  could 


LIFE    OF    CERVANTES.  XV11 

not  be  altogether  disregarded;  and  the  future 
author  -of  Don  Quixote  escaped  the  bowstring, 
because  an  Arnaut  renegade  told  an  Algerine 
pirate,  that  he  considered  him  to  be  worth  some- 
thing better  than  two  hundred  crowns.  The 
whole  of  these  particulars,  let  it  be  observed,  are 
not  gathered  from  Cervantes  himself,*  but  from 
the  contemporary  author  of  a  history  of  Barbary, 
Father  Heado.  The  words  in  which  this  ecclesi- 
astic concludes  his  narrative,  are  worthy  of  being 
given  as  they  stand.  "  Most  marvellous  thing ! " 
says  he,  "  that  some  of  these  gentlemen  remain- 
ed shut  up  in  the  cave  for  five,  six,  even  for 
seven  months,  without  even  so  much  as  behold- 
ing the  light  of  day,  sustained  all  that  time  by 
Miguel  de  Cervantes,  and  this  at  the  great  and 
continual  risk  of  his  own  life  ;  for  no  less  than 
four  times  did  he  incur  the  nearest  peril  of  being 
strangled,  impaled,  or  burnt  alive,  by  reason  of 
the  bold  things  on  which  he  adventured,  in  the 
hope  of  bestowing  liberty  upon  many.  Had  for- 
tune been  correspondent  to  his  spirit,  industry, 

*  It  has  been  very  commonly  supposed,  that  Cervantes  tells 
his  own  Algerine  history  in  the  person  of  the  captive  in  Don 
Quixote.  But  the  reader  will  find,  in  the  notes  to  this  edition, 
sufficient  reasons  for  discrediting  this  notion,  in  itself  certainly  a 
very  natural  one.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that  Cer- 
vantes' own  experience  furnished  him  with  all  that  knowledge 
of  Algerine  affairs  and  manners,  which  he  has  displayed  in  the 
story  of  the  Captive,  as  well  as  in  his  less  known  pieces,  the 
Trato  de  Argel,  and  the  Espanola  Inglesa. 


XV111  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

and  skill,  at  this  day  Algiers  would  have  been 
in  the  safe  possession  of  the  Christians,  for  to  no 
less  lofty  consummation  did  his  designs  aspire. 
In  the  end,  the  whole  was  treasonously  discover- 
ed, and  the  gardener,  after  being  tortured  and 
picketed,  perished  miserably.  But,  indeed,  of 
the  things  which  happened  in  that  cave,  during 
the  seven  months  that  it  was  inhabited  by  these 
Christians,  and  altogether  of  the  captivity  and 
various  enterprises  of  Miguel  de  Cervantes,  a 
particular  history  might  easily  be  formed.  Has- 
san Aga  was  accustomed  to  say,  that  he  should 
consider  captives,  and  barks,  and  the  whole  city 
of  Algiers  in  perfect  safety,  could  he  but  le  sure 
of  that  handless  Spaniard." 

In  effect  it  appears,  that  the  King  of  Algiers 
did  not  consider  it  possible  to  make  sure  of  Cer- 
vantes, so  long  as  he  remained  in  the  possession 
of  a  private  individual ;  for  shortly  after  he  pur- 
chased him  from  Dali  Mami,  and  kept  him  shut 
up  with  the  utmost  severity  in  the  dungeon  of 
his  own  palace.  The  hardships  thus  inflicted 
on  Cervantes  were,  however,  in  all  probability, 
the  means  of  restoring  to  him  his  liberty  much 
sooner  than  he  would  otherwise  have  obtained 
it.  The  noble  exertions  he  had  made,  and  the 
brilliant  talents  he  had  exhibited,  had  excited 
the  strongest  interest  in  his  favor;  and  the 
knowledge  of  his  harsh  treatment  in  the  Haram, 


LITE   OF   CERVANTES.  XIX 

determined  the  public  functionary  for  -the  re- 
demption of  Spanish  captives,  then  resident  at 
Algiers,  to  make  an  extraordinary  effort  in  his 
behalf.  In  fine,  this  person,  by  name  Father 
Juan  Gil,  declared  his  willingness  to  advance 
whatever  might  be  necessary,  along  with  the  con- 
tributions already  received  from  his  family  in 
Spain,  to  procure  the  liberty  of  Cervantes  ;•  and 
although  the  king  forthwith  raised  his  demand 
to  five  hundred  crowns,  the  ransom  was  paid,  and 
Cervantes  recovered  his  freedom.  The  records 
of  the  Redeeming  Commission  show,  that  Cer- 
vantes' mother  (now  a  widow)  contributed  two 
hundred  and  fifty  crowns ;  his  sister  (married  to 
a  Florentine  gentleman,  Ambrosio,)  fifty  ;  and  a 
friend  of  the  family,  one  Franciso  Caramamble, 
a  similar  sum.  It  was  thus  that  Cervantes  at 
length  returned  to  Spain  in  the  spring  of  1581. 
He  returned  at  the  age  of  thirty-four,  after 
having  spent  more  than  ten  years  of  manhood 
amidst  such  varieties  of  travel,  adventure,  enter- 
prise, and  suffering,  as  must  have  sufficed  to  sober 
very  considerably  the  lively  temperament,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  mature,  enlarge,  and  strength- 
en the  powerful  understanding,  with  which  he 
had  been  gifted  by  nature.  He  returned,  how- 
ever, under  circumstances  of  but  little  promise, 
so  far  as  his  personal  fortune  and  advancement 
were  concerned.  His  wound  had  disabled  him 


XX-  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

as  a  soldier,  and,  besides,  the  long  period  of  his 
captivity  had  thrown  him  out  in  the  course  of 
his  military  profession.  With  all  his  variety  of 
accomplishments,  and  all  his  brilliancy  of  talents, 
there  was  no  other  profession  for  the  exercise  of 
which  he  felt  himself  prepared.  His  family  was 
poor,  his  friends  few  and  powerless ;  and,  after 
some  months  spent  in  fruitless  solicitation,  Cer- 
vantes seems  to  have  made  up  his  mind  that  no 
path  remained  open  for  him  but  that  of  litera- 
ture; in  one  point  of  view,  indeed,  the  path 
most  worthy  of  his  genius,  and  therefore  the 
best  he  could  have  selected,  had  greater  choice 
been  afforded ;  but  one  which,  according  to  the 
then  manners  and  customs  of  Spain,  was  not 
likely  to  prove,  in  any  remarkable  degree,  con- 
ducive to  the  improvement  of  his  worldly  for- 
tunes. He  shut  himself  up,  however,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  labor  in  his  new  vocation  at  once 
with  all. the  natural  fervor  of  his  disposition, 
and  with  all  the  seriousness  of  a  man  sensible 
how  much  the  whole  career  of  life  is  often  af- 
fected by  the  good  or  ill  success  of  a  first  effort, 
As  such,  he,  without  doubt,  regarded  the  work  in 
which  he  had  now  engaged  himself;  for  he  could 
not,  after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years,  attach  any 
importance  to  the  juvenile  and  by  this  time  for- 
gotten productions,  which  had  gone  forth  under 
his  name,  ere  he  quitted  Spain  in  the  suite  of 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  XXI 

Cardinal  Acquaviva.  The  reader,  who  has  com- 
pared the  different  Lives  of  Cervantes  written  by 
Spanish  authors,  will,  from  what  I  have  now  said, 
perceive  that  I  am  inclined  to  follow  the  opinion 
of  those  who  think  the  pastoral  romance  of  Ga- 
latea was  the  first  work  published  by  him  after 
his  return  from  captivity.  The  authority  of 
Pellicer,  indeed,  favors  the  contrary  opinion  ; 
but  although  he  says  that  Cervantes  immediately 
commenced  writing  for  the  stage,  I  can  find  no 
authentic  record  of  any  dramatic  effort  of  his, 
until  some  time  after  the  appearance  of  the  Ga- 
latea, or  indeed  until  after  his  marriage,  which 
took  place  in  1584. 

The  Galatea,  like  all  the  lesser  works  of  Cer- 
vantes, has  been  thrown  into  the  shade  by  the 
preeminent  merit  and  success  of  his  Don  Quix- 
ote. Yet  there  can  be  no  question,  that,  had 
Cervantes  never  written  any  thing  but  the  Ga- 
latea, it  must  have  sufficed  to  give  him  a  high 
and  a  permanent  place  in  the  literary  history  of 
Spain.  The  grace  and  beauty  of  its  composi- 
tion entitle  the  romance  to  be  talked  of  in  this 
manner ;  but  it  must  be  confessed,  that  it  exhi- 
bits very  few  traces  of  that  originality  of  inven- 
tion, and  none  at  all  of  that  felicitous  exposition 
of  human  character,  in  which  the  genius  of  Cer- 
vantes afterwards  shone  forth  with  its  brightest 
and  most  peculiar  lustre.  It  is,  at  the  best,  a 


XXH  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

happy  imitation  of  the  Diana  of  Montemayor, 
and  of  the  continuation  of  that  performance  by 
Gil  Polo.  Like  these  works,  it  is  deficient  in 
fable,  (but  indeed  the  fable  of  Galatea,  such  as 
it  is,  was  never  completed) ;  like  them,  it  abounds 
in  beautiful  description  and  graceful  declamation ; 
and  like  them,  it  is  continually  diversified  with 
the  introduction  of  lyrical  pieces,  sonnets  can- 
zonets, and  ballads — some  of  these  exquisite  in 
merit.  The  metrical  effusions  of  the  Galatea 
are,  indeed,  so  numerous,  that  Bouterweck  *  says 
he  has  little  doubt  Cervantes  wrote  the  prose 
narrative  expressly  for  the  purpose  of  embody- 
ing the  miscellaneous  contents  of  a  poetical  com- 
monplace book,  to  whose  stores  he  had  probably 
been  making  continual  additions  throughout  the 
whole  period  of  his  absence  from  Spain  ;  and, 
above  all,  during  the  many  weary  and  idle  hours 
of  his  captivity.  It  is  certain  that  many  of  the 
poems  introduced  in  the  Galatea  have  little  ap- 
parent relation  to  the  story  of  the  romance ;  and, 
therefore,  there  may  be  some  foundation  for 
Bouterweck's  conjecture.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  cannot  be  denied,  that  the  finest  strains  in  the 
book  are  filled  with  allusions,  which  imply  their 
having  been  composed  subsequent  to  the  termi- 
nation of  the  author's  residence  in  Barbary.  On 

*  Geschichte  der  Spanisches  Literatur,  B.  II. 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  XX111 

the  whole,  the  Galatea  exhibited  abundantly  the 
defects  of  the  false  and  unnatural  species  of  com- 
position to  which  it  belongs  ;  but  it  displayed,  at 
the  same  time,  a  masterly  command  of  Spanish 
style,  and  in  general  a  richness  and  energy  both 
of  thought  and  of  language,  enough  at  the  least 
to  excite  the  highest  expectations  in  regard  to 
the  future  literary  career  of  Cervantes.  It  might 
have  been  fortunate  had  he  gone  on  to  exert 
himself  in  the  walk  of  fiction,  in  which  this  first, 
and,  on  the  whole,  successful  effort  had  been 
made,  and  by  returning  to  which,  long  afterwards, 
he  secured  his  literary  immortality,  instead  of 
betaking  himself,  as  he  soon  did,  to  the  drama- 
tic field,  in  which  he  had  to  contend  with  the 
most  formidable  competitors,  and  for  which  the 
event  has  shown  his  own  talents  were  less  splen- 
didly adapted. 

Very  shortly  after  the  GaMea  was  published, 
Cervantes  married  a  young  lady,  whose  charms 
were  supposed  to  have  furnished  the  chief  inspi- 
ration of  its  numerous  amatory  effusions  ;  Donna 
Catalina  de  Palacios  y  Salazar  y  Vozmediano. 
This  lady's  dowry  was  not  indeed  quite  so  am- 
ple as  might  be  augured  from  the  magnificence 
of  her  style ;  but  she  brought  Cervantes  enough 
to  furnish  him  with  the  means  of  subsistence, 
and  it  is  probable  of  idleness,  for  a  considerable 
number  of  months.  After  the  lady's  portion  was 


XXIV  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

exhausted,  he  seems  to  have  plunged  himself  at 
once  into  the  full  career  of  dramatic  composition. 
In  this  he  labored  incessantly,  but  with  little 
success,  for  about  three  years.  His  plays,  as 
was  the  fashion  of  the  day,  he  sold,  as  fast  as 
they  were  written,  to  the  managers  of  different 
theatres  in  Madrid  and  elsewhere,  receiving,  it  is 
probable,  but  very  triQing  and  inadequate  re- 
muneration. For  Lope  de  Vega  received  at  the 
highest  about  eighty  reals  for  a  comedy ;  and  we 
may  be  sure  his  unsuccessful  rival  was  obliged 
to  be  content  with  very  inferior  payment. 

That  the  author  of  Don  Quixote  should  have 
been  unsuccessful  in  writing  for  the  stage,  is  a 
circumstance  which  cannot  but  excite  consider- 
able astonishment  at  first  sight ;  nor  has  all  the 
ingenuity  of  the  celebrated  historian  of  Spanish 
literature  been  able  to  throw  much  light  upon 
the  causes  of  his  failure.  "  That  mass  of  in- 
trigues, adventures,  and  prodigies,"  says  he,* 
"  of  which  the  Spanish  drama  was  chiefly  com- 
posed, was  altogether  in  opposition  to  the  par- 
ticular character  of  Cervantes'  genius.  His 
manner  of  thinking  and  of  writing  was  too  ner- 
vous and  accurate  to  be  accommodated  to  a  spe- 
cies of  composition,  fantastic,  destitute  of  any 
plain  purpose,  and  of  any  durable  interest.  As 

*  Bouterweck,  Sect.  IT.  Chap.  I. 


LIFE    OF    CERVANTES.  XXV 

a  spectator,  he  enjoyed  pieces,  which,  as  a  poet, 
he  could  not  imitate  ;  and  he  believed  himself  to 
be  capable  of  imitating  the  Spanish  dramatists, 
because  he  felt  within  himself  the  power  and 
the  capacity  of  doing  better  things."  But  when 
we  reflect  that  the  very  best  of  Cervantes'  fol- 
lowers and  imitators  in  the  field  of  comic  ro- 
mance, Le  Sage,  Fielding,  and  Smollett,  attempt- 
ed, like  him,  the  drama,  and,  like  him,  attempt- 
ed it  with  indifferent  success,  we  shall  most  pro- 
bably be  constrained  to  conclude,  that  the  two 
kinds  of  composition,  which  we  might  at  first 
sight  imagine  to  require  very  much  the  same 
sort  of  talents,  do  in  fact  require  talents  of  to- 
tally different  kinds ;  and  so,  to  attribute  the  ill 
success  of  Cervantes  to  causes  much  more  ge- 
neral than  are  to  be  deduced  from  any  examin- 
ation of  the  particular  system  of  the  Spanish 
stage.  Had  Calderon,  or  Shakspeare,  or  Mo- 
liere,  written  admirable  romances,  it  certainly 
would  have  been  much  more  difficult  to  account 
for  the  dramatic  failures  of  Cervantes ;  but  even 
then  it  would  not  have  followed  that,  because 
great  dramatists  could  write  excellent  romances, 
great  romance-writers  should  also  be  able  to  write 
excellent  dramas.  In  a  word,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  powers  may  be  exhibited  in  a  romance  as 
high  and  as  varied  as  ever  adorned  either  a  tra- 
gedy or  a  comedy ;  but  it  seems  no  less  certain,  * 


XXVI  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

that  a  man  may  possess  all  the  talents  requisite 
for  giving  interest  and  beauty  to  a  romance,  in 
the  total  absence  of  those  faculties  of  concentrat- 
ing interest  and  condensing  expression,  without 
a  perfect  command  of  "which,  neither  in  Spain 
nor  any  other  country,  has  the  Genius  of  the 
Drama  ever  achieved  any  of  its  wonders. 

Cervantes  himself  informs  us,  that  he  wrote 
during  this  period  of  his  life  between  twenty 
and  thirty  plays  ;  but  not  more  than  a  third  part 
of  these  have  ever  been  published,  although 
says  Bouterweck,  there  might  yet  be  some  hope 
of  recovering  the  whole,  were  the  theatrical  re- 
cords of  Spain  sufficiently  examined.  Of  those 
which  have  been  given  to  the  world,  the  Nu- 
mancia  Vengada,  a  tragedy  in  four  acts,  is  uni- 
versally esteemed  the  most  favorable  specimen. 
The  mixture  in  the  fable,  and  even  in  the  dia- 
logue, of  such  personages  as  the  Genius  of  Spain, 
the  God  of  the  river  Douro,  &c.,  along  with  Ro- 
man soldiers  and  Spanish  ladies,  is  a  defect  too 
gross  and  palpable  either  to  admit  excuse  or  to 
require  commentary.  But,  even  in  spite  of  this 
and  of  other  scarcely  less  glaring  defects,  the 
fine  story  of  Numantian  heroism  and  devotion 
is  certainly  told  in  this  drama  with  a  power 
quite  worthy  of  the  genius  of  its  author.  The 
dark  superstitions  of  heathenism  are  introduced 
with  masterly  and  chastened  skill  j  and  the  whole 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  XXV11 

of  the  last  act  in  particular  is  worked  up  with 
a  sustained  and  fearless  vigor  both  of  imagin- 
ation and  of  diction,  such  as  no  one  can  survey 
without  saying  to  himself,  si  sic  omnia  !  The 
comic  humor  of  Cervantes,  again,  rarely  appears 
in  his  comedies,  but  shines  out  with  infinite  ease 
and  effect  in  several  of  his  little  interludes  and 
afterpieces ;  more  than  one  of  which  have  been 
of  late  years  translated,  and  represented  with 
much  success  upon  the  German  stage.  And 
here,  by  the  way,  is  another  coincidence  that 
may  be  worth  remarking ;  for  Fielding,  whose 
regular  plays  were  all  damned,  still  lives  upon 
our  own  theatre  as  the  author  of  TOM  THUMB. 

On  the  whole,  imperfect  as  are  even  the  best 
of  Cervantes'  theatrical  pieces,  there  occur,  nev- 
ertheless, in  the  very  worst  of  them,  continual 
indications  of  the  fervid  genius  of  the  author. 
The  circumstance  which,  in  all  probability,  will 
be  most  immediately  remarked,  and  most  feel- 
ingly regretted  by  the  reader  who  turns  from 
Don  Quixote  to  the  comedies  of  Cervantes,  is  the 
absence  of  that  joyous  and  easy  vein  which  con- 
stitutes, throughout  the  whole  of  the  first  of  ro- 
mances, the  principal  charm  of  its  composition. 
I  have  little  doubt  that  Cervantes  began  to  write 
for  the  stage  in  the  hope  of  rivalling  Lope  de 
Vega ;  and  that,  after  the  first  failure,  he  was 
continually  depressed  with  the  more  and  more 


XX  Vlll  LIFE    OF   CERVANTES. 

forcible  conviction  of  his  own  inferiority  to  that 
great  and  inexhaustible  master  of  the  dramatic 
art.  He  might  afterwards  derive  some  conso- 
lation from  reading  Lope  de  Vega's  two  very  ordi- 
nary romances,  and  his  still  more  ordinary  novels. 
While  Cervantes  was  occupied  in  this  way,  his 
residence  seems  to  have  been  chiefly  at  Madrid, 
but  occasionally  at  Esquivias,  where  the  family 
of  his  wife  were  settled.  He  removed  in  1588 
to  Seville,  "  having,"  as  he  himself  expresses  it, 
"  found  something  better  to  do  than  writing  co- 
medies." What  this  something  was  we  have  no 
means  of  ascertaining;  but  we  know  that  one 
of  the  principal  branches  of  his  own  family  had 
long  been  established  at  Seville  in  great  mercan- 
tile opulence,  and  it  is  therefore  highly  probable 
that  through  their  means  he  had  procured  some 
office 'or  appointment  which  furnished  him  with 
means  of  subsistence  less  precarious  than  could 
be  afforded  by  the  feverish  drudgery  in  which  he 
had  spent  the  last  three  or  four  years  of  his  life. 
Not  less  than  two  of  the  Cervantes-Saavedras  of 
Seville  had  written  and  published  poems ;  so 
that  we  may  easily  imagine  some  interest  to 
have  been  excited  among  this  wealthy  family  in 
behalf  of  their  poor  cousin  of  Alcala  de  Hena- 
res ;  and  it  is  far  from  being  unlikely  that  they 
intrusted  to  his  management  some  subordinate 
department  of  their  own  mercantile  concerns. 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  XXIX 

In  1595,  the  Dominicans  of  Zaragoza  proposed 
certain  prizes  for  poems  to  be  recited  at  the  fes- 
tival of  St.  Hyacinthus ;  and  one  of  these  was 
adjudged  to  "  Miguel  Cervantes  Saavedra  of  Se- 
ville." In  1596,  the  Earl  of  Essex  made  the 
second  of  his  famous  descents  upon  the  Spanish 
coast,  and  having  surprised  Cadiz,  rifled  the  town 
and  destroyed  the  shipping  of  the  harbor,  includ- 
ing the  whole  of  a  second  armada,  designed,  like 
that  of  1588,  for  the  invasion  of  England.  While 
the  earl  kept  possession  of  Cadiz,  the  gentlemen 
of  Seville  hastened  to  take  arms,  and  prepare 
themselves  to  assist  in  delivering  that  city  from 
the  English  yoke ;  and  amidst  other  memorials 
of  their  zeal,  there  are  preserved  two  short  po- 
etical effusions  of  Cervantes.  In  1598,  Philip 
the  Second  died  at  Seville ;  and  Cervantes'  name 
appears  among  the  list  of  poets  who  wrote  verses 
on  occasion  of  the  royal  obsequies.  A  serious 
quarrel  took  place,  on  the  day  of  the  funeral, 
between  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  authorities 
of  Seville,  and  Cervantes  was  exposed  to  some 
trouble  for  having  ventured  to  hiss  at  some  part, 
we  know  not  what,  of  their  proceedings.  Such 
are  all  the  traces  that  have  been  discovered  of 
Cervantes'  occupations  and  amusements  during 
his  residence  at  Seville,  which  extended  from 
1588  to  1603,  or  perhaps  the  beginning  of 
1604.  The  name  of  the  branch  of  his  family 


XXX  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

settled  there  being  well  known,  it  is  not  won- 
derful, that,  after  a  residence  of  so  many  years, 
Cervantes  should  have  been  often  talked  of  by 
his  contemporaries  as  "  one  of  the  Saavedras  of 
Seville." 

"  It  cannot  be  doubted,"  says  Bouterweck, "  al- 
though no  Spanish  author  has  said  so,  that  the 
death  of  Philip  II.  must  have  had  a  favorable 
effect  on  the  genius  of  Cervantes.  When  the 
indolent  Philip  III.  ascended  the  throne,  the 
Spanish  people  began  to  breathe  more  freely. 
The  nation  recovered  at  least  the  courage  to 
sport  with  those  chains  which  they  could  not 
break,  and  satire  was  winked  at,  provided  only 
it  were  delicate."  I  know  not  how  much  found- 
ation of  truth  there  may  be  for  this  conjecture, 
but  it  is  certainly  not  the  less  likely,  because 
we  find  Cervantes  so  soon  after  the  accession  of 
the  new  king  transferring  his  habitation  to  Val- 
ladolid,  where,  during  the  first  years  of  his  reign, 
Philip  III.  was  chiefly  accustomed  to  hold  his 
court.  We  are  almost  entirely  without  informa- 
tion how  Cervantes  spent  the  two  or  three  years 
immediately  preceding  his  appearance  at  Val- 
ladolid;  and  this  is  the  more  to  be  regretted 
because  it  is  certain  that  the  First  Part  of  Don 
Quixote  was  written  during  this  period.  A 
vague  tradition  has  always  prevailed  that  Cer- 
vantes had  been  sent  into  La  Mancha  for  the  pur- 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  XXXI 

pose  of  recovering  some  debts  due  to  a  mercan- 
tile house  in  Seville;  that  he  was  maltreated  by 
the  people  of  La  Mancha,  and  on  some  pretence 
confined  for  several  months  in  the  jail  of  Arga- 
samilla,  and  that  during  this  imprisonment  the 
First  Part  of  Don  Quixote  was  both  planned  and 
executed.  We  know  from  Cervantes  himself,* 
that  the  First  Part  of  Don  Quixote  was  written  in 
a  prison ;  but  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  in 
how  far  the  circumstances  of  Cervantes'  confine- 
ment actually  corresponded  with  those  of  the 
tradition. 

It  is,  however,  extremely  probable,  that  Cer- 
vantes employed  a  considerable  part  of  the  time 
during  which  his  family  were  settled  in  Seville, 
in  travelling,  for  purposes  of  business,  over  vari- 
ous districts  of  Spain,  which,  in  the  earlier  peri- 
ods of  his  life,  he  could  have  had  small  opportuni- 
ties of  examining.  The  minute  knowledge  dis- 
played in  Don  Quixote,  not  only  of  the  soil,  but 
of  the  provincial  manners  of  La  Mancha,  can 
scarcely  be  supposed  to  have  been  gathered  oth- 
erwise than  from  personal  inspection,  and  that 
none  of  the  most  hasty.  In  his  novels,  most  of 
which  are  generally  supposed  to  have  been  com- 
posed about  the  same  period,  although  they  were 
not  published  for  several  years  afterwards,  a  simi- 
lar acquaintance  is  manifested  with  the  manners 

*  See  the  Prologue  to  Don  Quixote. 


XXX11  LIFE   OF  CERVANTES. 

of  Cordova,  Toledo,  and  many  other  cities  and 
districts  of  Spain.  Whatever  the  nature  of  Cer- 
vantes' occupation  at  Seville  might  have  been, 
there  is,  therefore,  every  reason  to  believe  that 
excursions,  of  considerable  extent,  formed  a  part 
either  of  his  duty,  or  his  relaxation. 

However  all  these  things  might  be,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  Cervantes  was  resident  in  Valladolid 
in  the  summer  of  1604,  and  there  is  reason 
to  think  he  had  removed  to  that  city  at  least 
a  year  earlier.  Don  Quixote  was  published  at 
Madrid  either  in  the  end  of  1604,  or  at  latest 
in  1605.  Some  curious  particulars  of  his  mode 
of  life,  about  the  time  of  its  appearance,  have 
been  gathered  from  the  records  of  the  ma- 
gistracy of  Valladolid,  before  whom  he  was 
brought  in  the  month  of  June,  1605,  on  suspi- 
cion of  having  been  concerned  in  a  nocturnal 
brawl  and  homicide,  with  which,  in  reality,  he 
had  no  manner  of  concern.  A  gentleman,  by 
name  Don  Gaspar  Garibay,  was  assassinated 
about  midnight,  close  to  the  house  where  Cer- 
vantes lived.  The  alarm  being  given,  Cervantes 
was  the  first  to  run  out  and  offer  every  assist- 
ance to  the  wounded  man.  It  is  clear,  that  the 
neighborhood  was  none  of  the  most  respecta- 
ble, for  it  was  instantly  suspected  that  the  wo- 
men of  Cervantes'  family  were  ladies  of  easy 
virtue,  and  that  he  himself  having  acted  as  their 


LIFE    OF   CERVANTES.  XXX111 

bully,  had,  in  the  course  of  some  infamous  scuffle, 
dealt  the  deadly  blow  with  his  own  hand.  He 
and  all  his  household  were  forthwith  arrested, 
and  did  not  recover  their  liberty  until  they  had 
undergone  very  strict  and  minute  examinations. 
From  the  records  of  the  court  we  gather,  that 
Cervantes  professed  himself  to  be  resident  at 
Valladolid,  for  purposes  of  business  ;  that,  on 
account  of  his  literary  reputation,  he  was  in  the 
custom  of  receiving  frequent  visits  both  from 
gentlemen  of  the  court,  and  the  learned  men  of 
the  university  ;  and,  lastly,  that  he  was  living 
in  a  style  of  great  penury ;  for  he,  his  wife,  his 
two  sisters,  (one  of  them  a  nun)  and  his  niece, 
are  represented  as  occupying  a  scanty  lodging, 
on  the  fourth  floor  of  a  mean-looking  house,  and 
as  entertaining  among  them  all  no  domestic  but 
a  single  girl.  Cervantes,  in  his  declaration, 
states  his  own  age  at  upwards  of  fifty,  but  he 
had,  in  fact,  completed  his  fifty-seventh  year 
before  this  transaction  took  place.  With  such 
obscurity  were  both  the  person  and  the  charac- 
ter of  Cervantes  surrounded,  according  to  some, 
immediately  before,  according  to  others,  imme- 
diately after,  the  publication  of  the  First  Part 
of  Don  Quixote.  But  from  these  very  circum- 
stances, I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  those  who 
deny  that  Don  Quixote  appeared  before  the  sum- 
mer of  1605. 

c 


XX XIV  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

It  was  dedicated  to  Don  Alonzo  Lopez  de 
Zuniga,  seventh  Duke  of  Bexar,  a  nobleman 
who  much  affected  the  character  of  a  Mecoenas, 
but  who  does  not  appear  to  have  requited  the 
homage  of  Cervantes  by  any  very  useful  marks 
of  his  favor.  The  book,  however,  stood  in  no 
need  of  patronage,  whatever  might  be  the  ne- 
cessities of  its  author  ;  it  was  read  immediately 
in  court  and  city,  by  young  and  old,  learned 
and  unlearned,  with  equal  delight ;  or,  as  the 
Duchess  in  the  second  part  expresses  it,  "  went 
forth  into  the  world  with  the  universal  applause 
of  the  nations."  Four  editions,  published  and 
sold  within  the  year,  furnish  the  best  proof  of 
its  wide  and  instant  popularity ;  and  if  any  fur- 
ther proof  be  wanting,  the  well-known  story 
(first  told  by  Barrano  Porreno,  in  his  Life  and 
Deeds  of  Philip  III.}  may  supply  it.  "The 
king  standing  one  day,"  says  this  chronicler, 
"on  the  balcony  of  the  palace  of  Madrid,  ob- 
served a  certain  student,  with  a  book  in  his 
hand,  on  the  opposite  banks  of  the  Manzanares. 
He  was  reading,  but  every  now  and  then  he  in- 
terrupted his  reading,  and  gave  himself  violent 
blows  upon  the  forehead,  accompanied  with  in- 
numerable motions  of  ecstasy  and  mirthfulness. 
That  student,  said  the  king,  is  either  out  of  his 
wits,  or  reading  the  history  of  Don  Quixote" 
This  must  have  happened  in  the  beginning  of 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  XXXV 

1606,  after  the  court  had  removed  from  Valla- 
dolid  to  the  capital.  Cervantes  himself  followed 
the  court,  and  resided  in  Madrid  almost  all  the 
rest  of  his  life. 

In  the  midst  of  general  approbation,  the  au- 
thor of  Don  Quixote  was  assailed,  on  his  arrival 
in  the  capital,  by  all  the  unwearied  arts  of  in- 
dividual spleen,  envy,  and  detraction.  He  had 
irritated,  by  his  inimitable  satire,  a  great  num- 
ber of  contemporary  authors,  some  of  them  men 
of  high  rank,  whose  fame  depended  on  books  of 
the  very  species  which  he  had  for  ever  destroy- 
ed. Another  numerous  and  active  class,  the 
writers  for  the  theatre,  were  not  less  seriously 
offended  by  the  freedom  with  which  Cervantes 
had  criticized,  in  the  person  of  the  Canon  of 
Toledo,  many  of  the  most  popular  pieces  which 
had  at  that  time  possession  of  the  Spanish 
stage.  Among  the  rest,  it  is  said,  and  probably 
not  without  some  foundation,  that  the  great  Lope 
de  Vega  himself  was  excessively  displeased  with 
the  terms  in  which  his  plays  were  talked  of; 
and  a  sonnet  against  Cervantes  and  his  book, 
still  extant,  is  generally  attributed  to  his  pen. 
Cervantes  endured  all  this  very  calmly ;  and 
with  that  noble  retention  of  the  thirst  for  fame, 
which  he  had  already  so  well  exemplified,  shut 
himself  up  in  his  study  to  compose  works  worthy 
of  himself,  instead  of  hastening  to  take  the  more 


XXXVI  LIFE   OF  CERVANTES. 

vulgar  revenge  he  might  so  easily  have  ob- 
tained against  his  adversaries.  The  two  bro- 
thers, Lupercio  and  Bartholomeo  D'Argensola, 
after  himself  and  Lope  de  Vega,  the  first  men 
of  letters  in  Spain,  lived  with  him  on  terms  of 
intimacy,  which  might  easily  console  him  under 
the  assaults  of  his  inferiors ;  and  through  them 
he  was  introduced  to  the  Conde  de  Lemos,  and 
the  Cardinal  of  Toledo,  two  enlightened  and 
high-spirited  noblemen,  who,  throughout  all  the 
rest  of  his  life,  never  failed  to  afford  him  their 
protection  and  support.  Count  Lemos  being 
appointed  Viceroy  of  Naples  shortly  after,  Cer- 
vantes solicited  and  expected  some  appointment 
in  his  suite ;  but  it  is  painful  to  add,  that  he 
seems  to  have  been  disappointed  in  this  particu- 
lar, in  consequence  of  the  coldness,  or  perhaps 
the  jealousy,  of  the  very  friends  by  whom  he 
had  been  first  introduced  to  that  nobleman's  no- 
tice. He  resented,  it  is  certain,  the  behavior  of 
the  Argensolas,  bat  the  dedications  of  almost 
all  the  works  he  subsequently  put  forth,  attest 
that  he  acquitted  Lemos  himself  of  any  unkind- 
ness  to  his  person,  or  coldness  to  his  interests. 

The  remains  of  his  patrimony,  with  the  pro- 
fits of  Don  Quixote,  and,  it  is  probable,  some  al- 
lowances from  Lemos  and  the  Cardinal,  were 
sufficient  to  support  Cervantes  in  the  humble 
style  of  life  to  which  his  habits  were  formed ; 


LIFE   OP   CERVANTES.  XXXvii 

for  he  allowed  nearly  ten  years  to  elapse  before 
he  sent  any  new  work  to  the  press.  In  1613, 
he  published  his  Novelas  Exemplares,  most  of 
which  had  been  written  many  years  before,  and 
of  which  he  had  already  given  a  specimen  in 
the  story  of  The  Curious  Impertinent,  introduced 
in  Don  Quixote.  These  tales  were  received  with 
great  and  deserved  applause,  although  they  have 
never  been  placed  on  a  level  with  the  great  work 
which  had  preceded  them.  They  have  been 
translated  into  English,  and  are  well  known  to 
most  readers,  so  that  it  were  needless  to  enlarge 
upon  their  character  and  merits.  They  are,  for 
the  most  part,  felicitous  imitations  of  the  man- 
ner of  Boccacio,  whose  Italian  popularity,  as  a 
writer  of  short  romances  and  anecdotes,  it  was 
no  doubt  Cervantes'  ambition  to  rival  in  his  own 
country.  They  are  written  in  a  style  of  manly 
ease  and  simplicity ;  and  when  compared  with 
the  Galatea,  (for,  as  I  have  already  said,  they 
were  chiefly  written  before  Don  Quixote,}  afford 
abundant  evidence  of  the  progressive  enlarge- 
ment of  the  author's  powers,  and  improve- 
ment of  his  taste.  Their  morality  is  uniformly 
pure,  and  many  of  them  are  full  of  interest; 
BO  that  it  is  no  wonder  the  novels  of  Cervantes 
should  to  this  hour  keep  their  place  among  the 
favorite  reading  of  the  Spanish  youth.  In  1614, 
Cervantes  published  another  work  highly  credit- 


XXXV1U  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

able  to  his  genius,  but  of  a  very  different  de- 
scription. This  is  the  Viage  de  Parnasso,  his 
celebrated  poetical  picture  of  the  state  of  Spa- 
nish literature  in  his  time ;  and,  without  question, 
the  most  original  and  energetic  of  his  own  po- 
etical performances.  It  is,  as  might  be  expect- 
ed, full  of  satire;  but  the  satire  of  Cervantes 
was  always  gentle  and  playful ;  and  among  the 
men  of  true  genius,  then  alive  in  Spain,  there  was 
not  one  (not  even  of  those  that  had  shown  per- 
sonal hostility  to  Cervantes)  who  had  the  small- 
est reason  to  complain  of  his  treatment.  Cer- 
vantes introduces  himself  as  "  the  oldest  and 
the  poorest  "  of  all  the  brotherhood ;  "  the  naked 
Adam  of  Spanish  poets ; "  but  he  describes  his 
poverty  without  complaining  of  it ;  and,  indeed 
throughout  the  whole  work,  never  for  a  moment 
loses  sight  of  that  high  feeling  of  self-respect, 
which  became  him  both  as  an  author  and  as  a 
gentleman.  The  vessel,  in  which  the  imaginary 
voyage  of  Parnassus  is  performed,  is  described 
in  a  strain  worthy  of  Cervantes.  "  From  the 
keel  to  the  topmast,"  says  he,  "it  was  all  of 
verse ;  there  was  not  a  single  foot  of  prose  in  it. 
The  deck  was  all  fenced  with  an  airy  railing-work 
of  double-rhymes.  The  rowing  benches  were 
chiefly  occupied  by  Ballads,  an  impudent  but 
necessary  race ;  for  there  is  nothing  to  which 
they  cannot  be  turned.  The  poop  was  grand  and 


LIFE   OF  CERVANTES.  XXXIX 

gay,  but  a  little  outlandish  in  its  style,  being 
stuck  all  over  with  sonnets  of  the  richest  work- 
manship. Two  vigorous  Triplets  had  the  stroke- 
oars  on  either  side,  and  regulated  the  motion  of 
the  vessel  in  a  manner  at  once  easy  and  power- 
ful. The  gangway  appeared  to  be  one  long 
and  most  melancholy  elegy,  from  which  tears 
were  continually  distilling,"  &c. 

During  the  same  year,  while  Cervantes  was 
preparing  for  the  press  the  Second  Part  of  Don 
Quixote,  there  was  published  at  Tarragona  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  same  story,  written  chiefly  for 
the  purpose  of  abusing  Cervantes,  by  a  person 
who  assumed  the  name  of  Avellenada,  and  who 
appears  to  have  been  successful  in  keeping  his 
true  name  entirely  concealed.  The  greater  part 
of  this  Continuation  is  made  up  of  very  humble 
imitation,  or  rather  of  very  open  plagiarism  from 
the  First  Part  of  Don  Quixote ;  and  towards  its 
conclusion,  it  contains  some  incidents  which 
leave  little  doubt,  but  that  its  writer  must  have 
found  access  to  the  MS.  of  Cervantes'  Second 
Part.  In  the  Notes  to  this  edition,  (vol.  iii.)  the 
reader  will  find  such  farther  particulars  as  have 
appeared  worthy  of  being  preserved.  Cervan- 
tes, whose  own  Continuation  had  already  in  all 
probability  begun  to  be  printed,  took  his  revenge 
by  interweaving  in  the  thread  of  his  story  a 
variety  of  the  most  bitter  sarcasms  upon  the 


xl  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

vulgarity,  obscenity,  and  coarseness  of  his  ano- 
nymous enemy ;  a  revenge,  but  for  which,  in 
all  likelihood,  the  memory  of  Avellenada's  per- 
formance would  not  have  survived  the  year  in 
which  it  was  published.  The  Second  Part  of 
Don  Quixote  made  its  appearance  in  the  begin- 
ning of  1615;  and  it  is  inscribed  to  the  Conde 
de  Lemos,  in  a  strain  well  worthy  of  the  imitation 
of  all  future  dedicators.  It  was  received  with 
applause  not  inferior  to  that  with  which  the 
First  Part  had  been  greeted  ten  years  before; 
and  no  doubt  lightened  the  pecuniary  circum- 
stances of  the  author  during  the  few  remaining 
months  of  his  life.  His  fame  was  now  established 
far  above  the  reach  of  all  calumny  and  detraction. 
Lope  de  Vega  was  dead,  and  there  was  no  one 
to  divide  with  Cervantes  the  literary  empire  of 
his  country.  He  was  caressed  by  the  great ; 
strangers,  who  came  to  Madrid,  made  the  author 
of  Don  Quixote  the  first  object  of  their  researches ; 
he  enjoyed  all  his  honors  in  the  midst  of  his 
family ;  and  was  continually  exercising  his  mind 
in  labors  worthy  of  himself.  In  short,  Cer- 
vantes had  at  last  obtained  all  the  objects  of 
his  honorable  ambition,  when  his  health  began 
to  fail,  and  he  felt  within  himself  the  daily 
strengthening  conviction  that  his  career  drew 
near  its  close. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1616,  he  super- 


LITE   OF   CERVANTES.  xli 

intended  the  publication  of  eight  of  his  come- 
dies, and  as  many  of  his  interludes,  and  prefixed 
to  them  a  dissertation,  which  is  extremely  valu- 
able and  curious,  as  containing  the  only  authen- 
tic account  of  the  early  history  of  the  Spanish 
drama.  He  also  finished  and  prepared  for  the 
press  his  romance  of  Persiles  and  Sigismunda. 
This  performance  is  an  elegant  and  elaborate 
imitation  of  the  style  and  manner  of  Heliodo- 
rus.  It  displays  felicity  of  invention  and  power 
of  description,  and  has  always  been  considered 
as  one  of  the  purest  specimens  of  Castilian 
writing ;  nevertheless,  it  has  not  preserved  any 
very  distinguished  popularity,  nor  been  classed 
(except  in  regard  to  style)  by  any  intelligent 
critic  of  more  recent  times  with  the  best  of 
Cervantes'  works. 

The  prologue  and  dedication  of  the  Persiles 
must  always  be  read  with  attention,  on  account 
of  the  interesting  circumstances  under  which 
they  were  composed,  and  of  which  they  them- 
selves furnish  some  account. 

Cervantes,  after  concluding  his  romance,  had 
gone  for  a  few  days  to  Esquivias  for  the  benefit 
of  country  air.  He  tells  us,  that,  as  he  was  rid- 
ing back  to  Madrid,  in  company  with  two  of  his 
friends,  they  were  overtaken  by  a  young  stu- 
dent on  horseback,  who  came  on  pricking  violent- 
ly, and  complaining  that  they  went  at  such  a 


xlii  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

pace  as  gave  him  little  chance  of  keeping  up 
with  them.  One  of  the  party  made  answer  that 
the  blame  lay  with  the  horse  of  Senor  Miguel 
de  Cervantes,  whose  trot  was  of  the  speediest. 
He  had  scarcely  pronounced  the  name,  when  the 
student  dismounted,  and  touching  the  hem  of 
Cervantes'  left  sleeve,  said,  "  Yes,  yes,  it  is  in- 
deed the  maimed  perfection,  the  all-famous,  the 
delightful  writer,  the  joy  and  darling  of  the 
Muses."  Cervantes  returned  the  young  man's 
academic  salutation  with  his  natural  modesty, 
and  they  performed  the  rest  of  the  journey  in 
company  with  the  student.  "We  drew  up  a 
little,"  says  he,  "  and  rode  on  at  a  measured 
pace ;  and  as  we  rode,  there  was  much  talk 
about  my  illness.  The  good  student  knocked 
away  all  my  hopes,  by  telling  me  my  disease 
was  the  dropsy,  and  that  I  could  not  cure  it  by 
drinking  all  the  water  of  the  ocean.  '  Be  chary 
of  drinking,  Senor  Cervantes,'  said  he  ;  'but  eat, 
and  eat  plentifully,  for  that  is  the  only  medicine 
that  will  do  you  any  good.'  I  replied,  that  many 
had  told  me  the  same  story ;  but  that,  as  for 
giving  over  drinking,  they  might  as  well  desire 
a  man  to  give  up  the  sole  purpose  of  his  being. 
My  pulse,  I  said,  was  becoming  daily  more  and 
more  feeble,  and  that  if  it  continued  to  decline 
as  it  had  been  doing,  I  scarcely  expected  to  out- 
live next  Sunday  ;  so  that  I  feared  there  was  but 


LIFE    OF   CERVANTES.  xliii 

little  chance  of  my  being  able  to  profit  much 
further  by  the  acquaintance  that  had  so  fortu- 
nately been  made.  With  that  we  found  ourselves 
at  the  bridge  of  Toledo,  by  which  we  entered  the 
city ;  and  the  student  took  leave  of  us,  having 
to  go  round  by  the  bridge  of  Segovia."  This  is 
the  only  notice  we  have  of  the  nature  of  Cer- 
vantes' malady.  It  proceeded  so  rapidly,  that  a 
very  few  days  after,  (on  the  18th  April,)  it  was 
thought  proper  for  him  to  receive  extreme  unc- 
tion, which  he  did  with  all  the  devotion  of  a  true 
Catholic.  The  day  following  he  dictated  the 
dedication  of  Persiles  to  the  Conde  de  Lemos,  one 
of  the  most  graceful  pieces  of  writing  he  ever  pro- 
duced ;  and  wasting  gradually  away,  expired  on 
the  23d  of  the  same  month.  He  had  made  his 
will  a  day  or  two  before,  in  which  he  appointed 
his  wife,  and  his  friend  the  licentiate  Francisco 
Numer  his  executors ;  and  desired  that  he  might 
be  buried  in  the  Monastery  of  the  Holy  Trinity 
at  Madrid.  Some  time  before  his  death,  he  had, 
after  a  fashion  not  unfrequent  in  these  times, 
enrolled  himself  in  the  third  class  of  the  Fran- 
ciscans. He  was,  therefore,  carried  forth  in  the 
sanctified  dress,  and  interred  with  all  the  sim- 
plicity prescribed  by  the  statutes  of  this  order. 
It  has  not  been  thought  unworthy  of  notice, 
that  the  mortal  career  of  CERVANTES  terminated 
on  the  same  day  with  that  of  SHAKSPEARE. 


xliv  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

Cervantes  was  a  man  of  ordinary  stature,  and 
of  a  complexion  unusually  fair  in  his  country ; 
for  his  eyes  were  bright  blue,  and  his  hair  au- 
burn. His  countenance  was,  in  his  youth,  hand- 
some and  spirited,  and  his  frame  capable  of  un- 
dergoing every  species  of  fatigue.  His  man- 
ners were  light  and  cheerful ;  and  there  seems 
to  be  not  the  lest  reason  for  doubting,  that,  in 
every  relation  of  life,  he  exhibited  all  the  vir- 
tues of  an  amiable,  upright,  and  manly  charac- 
ter. Loyalty,  bravery,  and  religion  were  in  those 
days  supposed  to  be  inherent  in  the  breast  of 
every  Castilian  gentleman ;  and  Cervantes  was 
in  these,  as  in  all  other  particulars,  an  honor  and 
an  ornament  to  the  generous  race  from  which 
he  sprung. 

In  regard  to  the  literary  character  and  merits 
of  Cervantes,  the  first  thing  which  must  strike 
every  one  acquainted  with  Spanish  literature 
is,  that  the  genius,  whose  appearance  forms  an 
epoch  so  very  remarkable  in  the  general  history 
of  European  intellect,  can  scarcely  be  said  to 
have  formed  any  epoch  in  the  literature  of  his 
own  country.  In  Spain,  the  age  in  which 
Don  Quixote  was  written  is  not  the  age  of  Cer- 
vantes, but  the  age  of  Lope  de  Vega.  Out  ol 
Spain,  the  writings  of  Lope  de  Vega  have  scarce- 
ly been  known,  and  certainly  have  never  been 
popular;  while  the  masterpiece  of  Cervantes, 


.  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  xlv 

under  all  the  disadvantages  of  translation,  has 
taken,  and  preserved,  in  every  country  of  Eu- 
rope, a  place  hardly  inferior  to  the  most  admired 
productions  of  native  talent.  Had  Cervantes 
written  nothing  but  his  plays  there  could  have 
been  nothing  to  excite  wonder  in  the  superior 
Spanish  popularity  of  Lope  de  Vega  ;  for,  in 
spite  of  greater  correctness  of  execution,  and 
perhaps  even  of  greater  felicity  in  delineating 
human  character,  it  is  not  to  be  questioned,  that 
Cervantes,  as  a  dramatist,  is  quite  inferior  to  his 
contemporary.  But  when  Don  Quixote  is  thrown 
into  the  scale,  the  result  must,  indeed,  appear 
as  difficult  to  be  accounted  for,  as  it  is  incapable 
of  being  denied.  The  stage,  no  doubt,  was  in 
those  days  the  delight  and  the  study  of  the 
Spanish  public  throughout  all  its  classes;  but 
even  the  universal  predilection,  or  rather  passion, 
for  a  particular  form  of  composition,  will  scarcely 
be  sufficient  to  explain  the  comparative  neglect 
of  genius  at  least  equal,  exerted  with  infinitely 
more  perfect  skill,  in  a  form  which  possessed  at 
that  period,  in  addition  to  all  its  essential  merits, 
the  great  merit  of  originality,  and  charm  of  no- 
velty. 

Even  had  Cervantes  died  without  writing  Don 
Quixote,  his  plays,  (above  all,  his  Interludes  and 
his  Numancid) ;  his  Galatea,  the  beautiful  dream 
of  his  youth ;  his  Persttes,  the  last  effort  of  his 


xlvl  LIFE  OF  CERVANTES.  . 

chastened  and  purified  taste;  and  his  fine  poem 
of  the  Voyage  of  Parnassus,  must  have  given 
him  at  least  the  second  place  in  the  most  pro- 
ductive age  of  Spanish  genius.  In  regard  to 
all  the  graces  of  Castilian  composition,  even 
these  must  have  left  him  without  a  rival,  either 
in  that  or  in  any  other  age  of  the  literature 
of  his  country.  For,  while  all  the  other  great 
Spanish  authors  of  the  brilliant  CENTURY  of 
Spain,  (from  1560  to  1656,)  either  deformed 
their  writings  by  utter  carelessness,  or  weak- 
ened them  by  a  too  studious  imitation  of  foreign 
models,  Cervantes  alone  seized  the  happy  me- 
dium, and  was  almost  from  the  beginning  of  his 
career,  Spanish  without  rudeness,  and  graceful 
without  stiffness  of  affectation.  As  a  master 
of  Spanish  style,  he  is  now,  both  in  and  out 
of  Spain,  acknowledged  to  be  first  without  a 
second ;  but  this,  which  might  have  secured 
the  immortality  and  satisfied  the  ambition  of 
any  man,  is,  after  all,  scarcely  worthy  of  being 
mentioned  in  regard  to  the  great  creator  of  the 
only  species  of  writing  which  can  be  considered 
as  the  peculiar  property  of  modern  genius.  In 
that  spacious  field,  of  which  Cervantes  must  be 
honored  as  the  first  discoverer,  the  finest  spirits 
of  his  own,  and  of  every  other  European  country, 
have  since  been  happily  and  successfully  em- 
ployed. The  whole  body  of  modern  romance 


LIFE   OF  CERVANTES.  xJvii 

and  novel  writers  must  be  considered  as  his  fol- 
lowers and  imitators  ;  but  among  them  all,  so 
varied  and  so  splendid  soever  as  have  been  their 
merits,  it  is,  perhaps,  not  going  too  far  to  say, 
that,  as  yet,  Cervantes  has  found  but  one  rival. 

The  learned  editor  of  the  Spanish  Academy's 
edition  of  1781  has  thought  fit  to  occupy  the 
space  of  a  very  considerable  volume  with  an  in- 
quiry into  the  particular  merits  of  Don  Quixote. 
I  refer  to  his  laborious  dissertation  all  those  who 
are  unwilling  to  admire  any  thing  without  know- 
ing why  they  admire  it,  or  rather  why  an  erudite 
Doctor  of  Madrid  deemed  it  worthy  of  his  ad- 
miration.* In  our  own  country,  almost  every 
thing  that  any  sensible  man  would  wish  to  hear 
said  about  Don  Quixote  has  been  said  over  and 
over  again  by  writers,  whose  sentiments  I  should 
be  sorry  to  repeat  without  their  words,  and 
whose  words  I  should  scarcely  be  pardoned  for 
repeating. 

Mr.  Spence,  the  author  of  a  late  ingenious 
tour  in  Spain,  seems  to  believe,  what  I  should 
have  supposed  was  entirely  exploded,  that  Cer- 

*  As  a  specimen  of  the  style  of  his  criticisms  take  this :  he 
approves  of  the  introduction  of  a  Roque  Guinart  in  Don  Quix- 
ote, because  in  the  Odyssey  there  is  a  Polyphemus,  and  in  the 
JEneid  there  is  a  Cacus.  And  yet  this  man  must  have  at  least 
read  Cervantes'  own  preface  to  his  work,  in  which  that  pedantic 
species  of  criticism  is  so  powerfully  ridiculed.  "  If  thou  namest 
any  giant  in  the  book,  forget  not  Goliah  of  Gath,"  &c. 


xlviii  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

vantes  wrote  his  books  for  the  purpose  of  ridi- 
culing knight-errantry ;  and  that,  unfortunately 
for  his  country,  his  satire  put  out  of  fashion,  not 
merely  the  absurd  misdirection  of  the  spirit  of 
heroism,  but  that  sacred  spirit  itself.  But  the 
practice  of  knight-errantry,  if  ever  there  was 
such  a  thing,  had,  it  is  well  known,  been  out  of 
date  long  before  the  age  in  which  Don  Quixote 
appeared ;  and  as  for  the  spirit  of  heroism,  I 
think  few  will  sympathize  with  the  critic  who 
deems  it  possible  that  an  individual,  to  say  no- 
thing of  a  nation,  should  have  imbibed  any  con- 
tempt, either  for  that  or  any  other  elevating  prin- 
ciple of  our  nature,  from  the  manly  page  of  Cer- 
vantes. One  of  the  greatest  triumphs  of  his  skill 
is  the  success  with  which  he  continually  pre- 
vents us  from  confounding  the  absurdities  of  the 
knight-errant  with  tbe  generous  aspirations  of 
the  cavalier.  For  the  last,  even  in  the  midst  of 
madness,  we  respect  Don  Quixote  himself.  We 
pity  the  delusion,  we  laugh  at  the  situation,  but 
we  revere,  in  spite  of  every  ludicrous  accompa- 
niment, and  of  every  insane  exertion,  the  noble 
spirit  of  the  Castilian  gentleman ;  and  we  feel, 
in  every  page,  that  we  are  perusing  the  work, 
not  of  a  heartless  scoffer,  a  cold-blooded  satirist, 
but  of  a  calm  and  enlightened  mind,  in  which 
true  wisdom  had  grown  up  by  the  side  of  true 
experience;  of  one  whose  genius  moved  in  a 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  xlix 

sphere  too  lofty  for  mere  derision ;  of  one  who 
knew  human  nature  too  well  not  to  respect  it ; 
of  one,  finally,  who,  beneath  a  mask  of  apparent 
levity,  aspired  to  commune  with  the  noblest  prin- 
ciples of  humanity ;  and  above  all,  to  give  form 
of  expression  to  the  noblest  feelings  of  the  na- 
tional character  of  Spain.  The  idea  of  giving 
a  ludicrous  picture  of  an  imaginary  personage, 
conceiving  himself  to  be  called  upon,  in  the 
midst  of  modern  manners  and  institutions,  to  ex- 
ercise the  perilous  vocation  of  an  Amadis  or  a 
Belianis,  might  perhaps  have  occurred  to  a  hun- 
dred men  as  easily  as  to  Cervantes.  The  same 
general  idea  has  been  at  the  root  of  many  sub- 
sequent works,  written  in  derision  of  real  or  ima- 
ginary follies;  but  Cervantes  is  distinguished 
from  the  authors  of  all  these  works,  not  merely 
by  the  originality  of  his  general  conception  and 
plan,  but  as,  strongly,  and  far  more  admirably,  by 
the  nature  of  the  superstructure  he  has  reared 
upon  the  basis  of  his  initiatory  fiction. 

Others  have  been  content  with  the  display  of 
wit,  satire,  eloquence ;  and  some  of  them  have 
displayed  all  these  with  the  most  admirable  skill 
and  power ;  but  he  who  rises  from  the  perusal 
of  Don  Quixote,  thinks  of  the  wit,  the  satire, 
the  eloquence  of  Cervantes,  but  as  the  accesso- 
ries and  lesser  ornaments  of  a  picture  of  na- 
tional life  and  manners,  by  far  the  most  perfect 


I  LIFE   OF  CERVANTES. 

and  glowing  that  was  ever  embodied  in  one 
piece  of  composition,  a  picture,  the  possession 
of  which  alone  will  be  sufficient  to  preserve,  in 
freshness  and  honor,  the  Spanish  name  and  cha- 
racter, even  after  the  last  traces  of  that  once  no- 
ble character  may  have  been  obliterated,  and 
perhaps  that  name  itself  forgotten  among  the 
fantastic  innovations  of  a  degenerated  people. 
Don  Quixote  is  thus  the  peculiar  property,  as 
well  as  the  peculiar  pride  of  the  Spaniards.  In 
another,  and  in  a  yet  larger  point  of  view,  it  is 
the  property  and  pride  of  the  whole  cultivated 
world ;  for  Don  Quixote  is  not  merely  to  be  re- 
garded as  a  Spanish  cavalier,  filled  with  a  Spa- 
nish madness,  and  exhibiting  that  madness  in  the 
eyes  of  Spaniards  of  every  condition  and  rank 
of  life,  from  the  peasant  to  the  grandee,  he  is 
also  the  type  of  a  more  universal  madness ;  he 
is  the  symbol  of  Imagination,  continually  strug- 
gling and  contrasted  with  Reality;  he  repre- 
sents the  eternal  warfare  between  Enthusiasm 
and  Necessity  ;  the  eternal  discrepancy  between 
the  aspirations  and  the  occupations  of  man ;  the 
omnipotence  and  the  vanity  of  human  dreams. 
And  thus,  perhaps,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that 
Don  Quixote,  the  wittiest  and  the  most  laugh- 
able of  all  books  —  a  book  which  has  made  many 
a  one,  besides  the  young  student  on  the  banks 
of  the  Manzanares,  look  as  if  he  were  out  of  him- 


LIFE   OF  CEEVANTES.  li 

self —  is  a  book,  upon  the  whole,  calculated  to 
produce  something  very  different  from  a  merely 
mirthful  impression. 

The  serious  style  of  Don  Quixote,  in  the  ori- 
ginal language,  preserves  the  most  perfect  har- 
mony with  this  seriousness  of  purpose.  The 
solemn,  eloquent,  impassioned  Don  Quixote,  the 
shrewd,  earth-seeking,  yet  affectionate  Sancho, 
do  not  fill  us  with  mirth,  because  they  seem  to 
be  mirthful  themselves.  From  the  beginning  of 
the  book  to  the  end,  they  are  both  intensely 
serious  characters ;  the  one  never  loses  sight  of 
the  high  destinies  to  which  he  has  devoted  him- 
self ;  the  other  wanders  amidst  sierras  and  moon- 
light forests,  and  glides  on  the  beautiful  stream 
of  the  Ebro,  without  forgetting  for  a  moment 
the  hope  of  pelf  that  has  drawn  him  from  his 
native  village  ;  the  insula*  which  has  been  pro- 
mised by  his  master  to  him,  and  which  he  does  not 
think  of  the  less,  because  he  does  not  know 
what  it  is,  and  because  he  does  know  that  it 
has  been  promised  by  a  madman.  The  contrasts 
perpetually  afforded  by  the  characters  of  Quix- 
ote and  Sancho,  the  contrasts  not  less  remark- 
able between  the  secondary  objects  and  indivi- 
duals introduced  —  as  these  are  in  reality,  and  as 
they  appear  to  the  hero,  all  the  contrasts  in  a 

*  See  Notes.  Vol.  H.  p.  8. 


Hi  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

work  where,  more  successfully  than  in  any  other, 
the  art  of  contrast  has  been  exhibited,  would 
be  comparatively  feeble  and  ineffectual,  but  for 
the  never-failing  contrast  between,  the  idea  of 
the  book,  and  the  style  in  which  it  is  written. 
Never  was  the  fleeting  essence  of  wit  so  richly 
embalmed  for  eternity. 

In  our  time,  it  is  certain,  almost  all  readers 
must  be  contented  to  lose  a  great  part  of  the  de- 
light with  which  Don  Quixote  was  read  on  its 
first  appearance.  The  class  of  works,  to  parody 
and  ridicule  which  it  was  Cervantes'  first  and 
most  evident  purpose,  has  long  since  passed  into 
almost  total  oblivion  ;  and  therefore  a  thousand 
traits  of  felicitous  satire  must  needs  escape  the 
notice  even  of  those  best  able  to  seize  the  gene- 
ral scope  and  appreciate  the  general  merits  of 
the  history  of  The  Ingenious  Hidalgo.  Mr. 
Southey's  admirable  editions  of  Amadis  de  Gaul, 
and  Palmerin  of  England,  have  indeed  revived 
among  us  something  of  the  once  universal  taste 
for  the  old  and  stately  prose  romance  of  chi- 
valry ;  but  it  must  be  had  in  mind  that  Cer- 
vantes wrote  his  book  for  the  purpose  not  of 
satirizing  these  works,  which  are  among  the 
most  interesting  relics  of  the  rich,  fanciful,  and 
lofty  genius  of  the  middle  ages ;  but  of  ex- 
tirpating the  race  of  slavish  imitators,  who,  in 
his  day,  were  deluging  all  Europe,  and  more  par- 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  liii 

ticularly  Spain,  with  eternal  caricatures  of  the 
venerable  old  romance.  Of  the  Amadis,  (the 
plan  and  outline  of  which  he  for  the  most  part 
parodied  merely  because  it  was  the  best  known 
work  of  its  order,)  Cervantes  has  been  especial- 
ly careful  to  record  his  own  high  admiration ; 
and  if  the  Canon  of  Toledo  be  introduced,  as  is 
generally  supposed,  to  express  the  opinions  of 
Cervantes  himself,  the  author  of  Don  Quixote 
had  certainly,  at  one  period  of  his  life,  enter- 
tained some  thoughts  of  writing,  not  a  humor- 
ous parody,  but  a  serious  imitation,  of  the  Amor 
dis. 

I  shall  conclude  what  I  have  to  say  of  the 
author  of  Don  Quixote  with  one  remark,  name- 
ly, That  Cervantes  was  an  old  man  when  he 
wrote  his  masterpiece  of  comic  romance ;  that 
nobody  has  ever  written  successful  novels,  when 
young,  but  Smollett;  and  that  Humphrey  Clin- 
ker, written  in  the  last  year  of  Smollett's  life,  is, 
in  every  particular  of  conception,  execution,  and 
purpose,  as  much  superior  to  Roderick  Random, 
as  Don  Quixote  is  to  the  Galatea. 

It  remains  to  say  a  few  words  concerning  this 
new  edition  of  the  first  of  modern  romances. 
The  translation  is  that  of  Motteux ;  and  this 
has  been  preferred,  simply  because,  in  spite  of 
many  defects  and  inaccuracies,  it  is  by  far  the 
most  spirited.  Shelton,  the  oldest  of  all  our 


Hv  LIFE   OF   CERVANTES. 

translators,  is  the  only  one  entitled  to  be  com- 
pared with  Motteux.  Perhaps  he  is  even  more 
successful  in  imitating  the  "  serious  air  "  of  Cer- 
vantes ;  but  it  is  much  to  be  doubted,  whether 
the  English  reader  of  our  time  would  not  be 
more  wearied  with  the  obsolete  turns  of  his 
phraseology,  than  delighted  with  its  occasional 
felicities. 

In  the  Notes  appended  to  these  volumes,  an 
attempt  has  been  made  to  furnish  a  complete 
explanation  of  the  numerous  historical  allusions 
in  Don  Quixote,  as  well  as  of  the  particular  traits 
in  romantic  writing,  which  it  was  Cervantes' 
purpose  to  ridicule  in  the  person  of  his  hero. 
Without  having  access  to  such  information,  as 
has  now  been  thrown  together,  it  may  be  doubt- 
ed whether  any  English  reader  has  ever  been 
able  thoroughly  to  seize  and  command  the  mean- 
ing of  Cervantes  throughout  his  inimitable  fic- 
tion. From  the  Spanish  editions  of  Bowie,  Pel- 
licer,  and  the  Academy,  the  greater  part  of  the 
materials  has  been  extracted ;  but  a  very  con- 
siderable portion,  and  perhaps  not  the  least  in- 
teresting, has  been  sought  for  in  the  old  histo- 
ries and  chronicles,  with  which  the  Spaniards  of 
the  16th  century  were  familiar.  Of  the  many 
old  Spanish  ballads,  quoted  or  alluded  to  by  Don 
Quixote  and  Sancho  Panza,  metrical  translations 
have  uniformly  been  inserted  in  the  Notes ;  and 


LIFE   OF   CERVANTES.  Iv 

as  by  far  the  greater  part  of  these  compositions 
are  altogether  new  to  the  English  public,  it  is 
hoped  this  part  of  the  work  may  afford  some 
pleasure  to  those  who  delight  in  comparing  the 
early  literatures  of  the  different  nations  of  Christ- 
endom. 


THE 


AUTHOR'S    PREFACE 


TO 


THE    READER. 


You  may  depend  upon  my  bare  word,  reader, 
without  any  farther  security,  that  I  could  wish 
this  offspring  of  my  brain  were  as  ingenious, 
sprightly,  and  accomplished,  as  yourself  could 
desire ;  but  the  mischief  on't  is,  nature  will  have 
its  course.  Every  production  must  resemble  its 
author,  and  my  barren  and  unpolished  under- 
standing can  produce  nothing  but  what  is  very 
dull,  very  impertinent,  and  extravagant  beyond 
imagination.  You  may  suppose  it  the  child  of 
disturbance,  engendered  in  some  dismal  prison,* 
where  wretchedness  keeps  its  residence,  and 
every  dismal  sound  its  habitation.  Rest  and 

*  The  Author  is  said  to  have  wrote  this  satirical  romance  in  a 
prison.  # 

VOL.    I.  1 


2  THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

ease,  a  convenient  place,  pleasant  fields  and 
groves,  murmuring  springs,  and  a  sweet  repose 
of  mind,  are  helps  that  raise  the  fancy,  and  im- 
pregnates even  the  most  barren  muses  with 
conceptions  that  fill  the  world  with  admiration 
and  delight.  Some  parents  are  so  blinded  by 
a  fatherly  fondness,  that  they  mistake  the  very 
imperfections  of  their  children  for  so  many  beau- 
ties ;  and  the  folly  and  impertinence  of  the  brave 
boy  must  pass  upon  their  friends  and  acquaint- 
ance for  wit  and  sense.  But  I,  who  am  only  a 
stepfather,  disavow  the  authority  of  this  modern 
and  prevalent  custom ;  nor  will  I  earnestly  be- 
seech you,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  which  is  many 
a  poor  author's  case,  dear  reader,  to  pardon  or 
dissemble  my  child's  faults  ;  for  what  favor  can 
I  expect  from  you,  who  are  neither  his  friend 
nor  relation?  You  have  a  soul  of  your  own, 
and  the  privilege  of  free-will,  whoever  you  be, 
as  well  as  the  proudest  he  that  struts  in  a  gaudy 
outside ;  you  are  a  king  by  your  own  fireside, 
as  much  as  any  monarch  on  his  throne ;  you 
have  liberty  and  property,  which  set  you  above 
favor  or  affection,  and  may  therefore  freely  like 
or  dislike  this  history,  according  to  your  humor. 
I  had  a  great  mind  to  have  exposed  it  as; 
naked  as  it  was  born,  without  the  addition  of  a 
preface,  or  the  numberless  trumpery  of  com- 
mendatory sonnets,  epigrams,  and  other  poems 


THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  3 

that  usually  usher  in  the  conceptions  of  authors ; 
for  I  dare  boldly  say,  that  though  I  bestowed 
some  time  in  writing  the  book,  yet  it  cost  me 
not  half  so  much  labor  as  this  very  preface.  I 
very  often  took  up  my  pen,  and  as  often  laid  it 
down,  and  could  not  for  my  life  think  of  any 
thing  to  the  purpose.  Sitting  once  in  a  very 
studious  posture,  with  my  paper  before  me,  my 
pen  in  my  ear,  my  elbow  on  the  table,  and  my 
cheek  on  my  hand,  considering  how  I  should  be- 
gin, a  certain  friend  of  mine,  an  ingenious  gen- 
tleman, and  of  a  merry  disposition,  came  in  and 
surprised  me.  He  asked  me  what  I  was  so  very 
intent  and  thoughtful  upon?  I  was  so  free 
with  him  as  not  to  mince  the  matter,  but  told 
him  plainly  I  had  been  puzzling  my  brain  for  a 
preface  to  Don  Quixote,  and  had  made  myself 
so  uneasy  about  it,  that  I  was  now  resolved  to 
trouble  my  head  no  further  either  with  preface 
or  book,  and  even  to  let  the  achievements  of 
that  noble  knight  remain  unpublished ;  for,  con- 
tinued I,  why  should  I  expose  myself  to  the 
lash  of  the  old  legislator,  the  vulgar?  They 
will  say,  I  have  spent  my  youthful  days  very 
finely  to  have  nothing  to  recommend  my  gray 
hairs  to  the  world,  but  a  dry,  insipid  legend, 
not  worth  a  rush,  wanting  good  language  as 
well  as  invention,  barren  of  conceits  or  pointed 
wit,  and  without  either  quotations  in  the  mar- 


4  THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

gin,  or  annotations  at  -the  end,  which  other 
books,  though  never  so  fabulous  or  profane,  have 
to  set  them  off.  Other  authors  can  pass  upon 
the  public  by  stuffing  their  books  from  Aris- 
totle, Plato,  and  the  whole  company  of  ancient 
philosophers,  thus  amusing  their  readers  into  a 
great  opinion  of  their  prodigious  reading.  Plu- 
tarch and  Cicero  are  slurred  on  the  public  for  as 
orthodox  doctors  as  St.  Thomas,  or  any  of  the 
fathers.  And  then  the  method  of  these  moderns 
is  so  wonderfully  agreeable  and  full  of  variety, 
that  they  cannot  fail  to  please.  In  one  line, 
they  will  describe  you  a  whining  amorous  cox- 
comb, and  the  next  shall  be  some  dry  scrap  of 
a  homily,  with  such  ingenious  turns  as  cannot 
choose  but  ravish  the  reader.  Now  I  want  all 
these  embellishments  and  graces ;  I  have  neither 
marginal  notes  nor  critical  remarks ;  I  do  not 
so  much  as  know  what  authors  I  follow,  and 
consequently  can  have  no  formal  index,  as  it  is 
the  fashion  now,  methodically  strung  on  the  let- 
ters of  the  alphabet,  beginning  with  Aristotle, 
and  ending  with  Xenophon,  or  .Zoilus,  or  Zeuxis, 
which  last  two  are  commonly  crammed  into  the 
same  piece,  though  one  of  them  was  a  famous 
painter,  and  the  other  a  saucy  critic.  I  shall 
want  also  the  pompous  preliminaries  of  com- 
mendatory verses  sent  to  me  by  the  right  honor- 
able my  Lord  such  a  one,  by  the  honorable  the 


THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  5 

Lady  such  a  one,  or  the  most  ingenious  Master 
such  a  one ;  though  I  know  I  might  have  them 
at  an  easy  rate  from  two  or  three  brothers  of 
the  quill  of  my  acquaintance,  and  better,  I  am 
sure,  than  the  best  quality  in  Spain  can  com- 
pose. 

In  short,  my  friend,  said  I,  the  great  Don 
Quixote  may  lie  buried  in  the  musty  records  of 
La  Mancha,  until  providence  has  ordered  some 
better  hand  to  fit  him  out  as  he  ought  to  be ; 
for  I  must  own  myself  altogether  incapable  of 
the  task.  Besides,  I  am  naturally  lazy,  and 
love  my  ease  too  well  to  take  the  pains  of  turn- 
ing over  authors  for  those  things  which  I  can 
express  as  well  without  it.  And  these  are  the 
considerations  that  made  me  so  thoughtful  when 
you  came  in.  The  gentleman,  after  a  long  and 
loud  fit  of  laughing,  rubbing  his  forehead,  0' 
my  conscience,  friend,  said  he,  your  discourse 
has  freed  me  from  a  mistake  that  has  a  great 
while  imposed  upon  me.  I  always  took  you  for 
a  man  of  sense,  but  now  I  am  sufficiently  con- 
vinced to  the  contrary.  What!  puzzled  at  so 
inconsiderable  a  trifle  !  a  business  of  so  little 
difficulty  confound  a  man  of  such  deep  sense 
and  searching  thought,  as  once  you  seemed 
to  be! 

I  am  sorry,  sir,  that  your  lazy  humor  and 
poor  understanding  should  need  the  advice  I  am 


6  THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

about  to  give  you,  which  will  presently  solve 
all  your  objections  and  fears  concerning  the  pub- 
lishing of  the  renowned  Don  Quixote,  the  lumi- 
nary and  mirror  of  all  knight-errantry.  Pray, 
sir,  said  I,  be  pleased  to  instruct  me  in  whatever 
you  think  may  remove  my  fears,  or  solve  my 
doubts.  The  first  thing  you  object,  replied  he, 
is  your  want  of  commendatory  copies  from  per- 
sons of  figure  and  quality.  There  is  nothing 
sooner  helped  ;  it  is  but  taking  a  little  pains  in 
writing  them  yourself,  and  clapping  whose  name 
you  please  to  them.  You  may  father  them  on 
Prester  John  of  the  Indies,  or  on  the  emperor 
of  Trapizonde,  whom  I  know  to  be  most  cele- 
brated poets.  But  suppose  they  were  not.  and 
that  some  presuming  pedantic  critics  might 
snarl,  and  deny  this  notorious  truth,  value  it  not 
two  farthings ;  and  though  they  should  convict 
you  of  forgery,  you  are  in  no  danger  of  losing 
the  hand  with  which  you  wrote*  them. 

As  to  marginal  notes  and  quotations  from  au- 
thors for  your  history,  it  is  but  dropping  here 
and  there  some  scattered  Latin  sentences  that 
you  have  already  by  rote,  or  may  have  with  lit- 
tle or  no  pains.  For  example,  in  treating  of 
liberty  and  slavery,  clap  me  in, 

"  Non  bcne  pro  toto  libertas  venditur  auro  ;  " 

*  He  lost  his  left  hand  (izquierda)  in  the  sea-fight  at  Lepanto 
against  the  Turks. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  7 

and,  at  the  same  time,  make  Horace,  or  some 
other  author,  vouch  it  in.  the  margin.  If  you 
treat  of  the  power  of  death,  come  round  with 
this  close, 

"  Pallida  mors  cequo  pulsat  pede  pauperum  tabernas, 
Regumque  turrets." 

If  of  loving  our  enemies,  as  heaven  enjoins,  you 
may,,  if  you  have  the  least  curiosity,  presently 
turn  to  the  divine  precept,  and  say,  Ego  autem 
dico  vobis,  diligite  inimicos  vestros  ;  or,  if  you  dis- 
course of  bad  thoughts,  bring  in  this  passage, 
De  corde  exeunt  cogitationes  malce.  If  the  uncer- 
tainty of  friendship  be  your  theme,  Cato  offers 
you  his  old  couplet  with  all  his  heart, 

"Donee  erisfelix  multos,  numerabis  amicos, 
Tempora  sifuerint  nubila,  solus  eris." 

And  so  proceed.  These  scraps  of  Latin  will  at 
least  gain  you  the  credit  of  a  great  grammarian, 
which,  I'll  assure  you,  is  no  small  accomplish- 
ment in  this  age.  As  to  annotations  or  remarks 
at  the  end  of  your  book,  you  may  safely  take 
this  course.  If  you  have  occasion  for  a  giant 
in  your  piece,  be  sure  you  bring  in  Goliah,  and 
on  this  very  Goliah  (who  will  not  cost  you  one 
farthing)  you  may  spin  out  a  swingeing  anno- 
tation. You  may  say,  The  Giant  Goliah,  or 
Goliat,  was  a  Philistine,  whom  David  the  shep- 


8  TELE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

herd  slew  with  the  thundering  stroke  of  a  peb- 
ble in  the  valley  of  Terebinthus ;  vide  Kings, 
in  such  a  chapter,  and  such  a  verse,  where  you 
may  find  it  written.  If  not  satisfied  with  this, 
you  would  appear  a  great  humanist,  and  would 
show  your  knowledge  in  geography,  take  some 
occasion  to  draw  the  river  Tagus  into  your  dis- 
course, out  of  which  you  may  fish  a  most  nota- 
ble remark.  The  river  Tagus,  say  you,  was  so 
called  from  a  certain  king  of  Spain.  It  takes 
its  rise  from  such  a  place,  and  buries  its  waters 
in  the  ocean,  kissing  first  the  walls  of  the  fa- 
mous city  of  Lisbon  j  and  some  are  of  opinion 
that  the  sands  of  this  river  are  gold,  &c.  If 
you  have  occasion  to  talk  of  robbers,  I  can 
presently  give  you  the  history  of  Cacus,  for  I 
have  it  by  heart.  If  you  would  descant  upon 
whores,  or  women  of  the  town,  there  is  the 
Bishop*  of  Mondonedo,  who  can  furnish  you 
with  Lamia,  Lais,  and  Flora,  courtesans,  whose 
acquaintance  will  be  very  much  to  your  reputa- 
tion. Ovid's  Medea  can  afford  you  a  go*od  ex- 
ample of  cruelty.  Calypso  from  Homer,  and 
Circe  out  of  Virgil,  are  famous  instances  of 
witchcraft  or  enchantment.  Would  you  treat 
of  valiant  commanders  ?  Julius  Csesar  has  writ 
his  commentaries  on  purpose  ;  and  Plutarch  can 

*  Guevara. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  9 

furnish  you  with  a  thousand  Alexanders.  If 
you  would  mention  love,  and  have  but  three 
"grains  of  Italian,  you  may  find  Leon  the  Jew 
ready  to  serve  you  most  abundantly.  But  if 
you  would  keep  nearer  home,  it  is  but  examin- 
ing Fonseca  of  divine  love,  which  you  have  here 
in  your  study,  and  you  need  go  no  farther  for 
all  that  can  be  said  on  that  copious  subject.  In 
short,  it  is  but  quoting  these  authors  in  your 
book,  and  let  me  alone  to  make  large  annota- 
tions. I  '11  engage  to  crowd  your  margin  suffi- 
ciently, and  scribble  you  four  or  five  sheets  to 
boot  at  the  end  of  your  book ;  and  for  the  cita- 
tions of  so  many  authors,  it  is  the  easiest  thing 
in  nature.  Find  out  one  of  these  books .  with 
an  alphabetical  index,  and  without  any  farther 
ceremony,  remove  it  verbatim  into  your  own ; 
and  though  the  world  won't  believe  that  you 
have  occasion  for  such  lumber,  yet  there  are  fools 
enough  to  be  thus  drawn  into  an  opinion  of  the 
work;  at  least,  such  a  flourishing  train  of  at- 
tendants will  give  your  book  a  fashionable  air, 
and  recommend  it  to  sale ;  for  few  chapmen  will 
stand  to  examine  it,  and  compare  the  authorities 
upon  the  counter,  since  they  can  expect  nothing 
but  their  labor  for  their  pains.  But,  after  all, 
sir,  if  I  know  any  thing  of  the  matter,  you  have 
no  occasion  for  any  of  these  things ;  for  your 
subject  being  a  satire  on  knight-errantry,  is 


10  THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

so  absolutely  new,  that  neither  Aristotle,  St. 
Basil,  nor  Cicero,  ever  dreamt  or  heard  of  it. 
Those  fabulous  extravagances  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  impartial  punctuality  of  true  his- 
tory; nor  do  I  find  any  business  you  can  have 
either  with  astrology,  geometry,  or  logic,  and  I 
hope  you  are  too  good  a  man  to  mix  sacred 
things  with  profane.  Nothing  but  pure  nature 
is  your  business  ;  her  you  must  consult,  and  the 
closer  you  can  imitate,  your  picture  is  the  bet- 
ter. And  since  this  writing  of  your's  aims  at 
no  more  than  to  destroy  the  authority  and  ac- 
ceptance the  books  of  chivalry  have  had  in  the 
world,  and  among  the  vulgar,  you  have  no  need 
to  go  begging  sentences  of  philosophers,  pas- 
sages out  of  holy  writ,  poetical  fables,  rhetorical 
orations,  or  miracles  of  saints.  Do  but  take 
care  to  express  yourself  in  a  plain,  easy  manner, 
in  well  chosen,  significant,  and  decent  terms, 
and  to  give  an  harmonious  and  pleasing  turn  to 
your  periods ;  study  to  explain  your  thoughts, 
and  set  them  in  the  truest  light,  laboring,  as 
much  as  possible,  not  to  leave  them  dark  nor 
intricate,  but  clear  and  intelligible.  Let  your 
diverting  stories  be  expressed  in  diverting 
terms,  to  kindle  mirth  in  the  melancholic,  and 
heighten  it  in  the  gay.  Let  mirth  and  humor 
be  your  superficial  design,  though  laid  on  a  solid 
foundation,  to  challenge  attention  from  the  ig- 


THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  11 

norant,  and  admiration  from  the  judicious ;  to 
secure  your  work  from  the  contempt  of  the 
graver  sort,  and  deserve  the  praises  of  men  of 
sense  ;  keeping  your  eye  still  fixed  on  the  .prin- 
cipal end  of  your  project,  the  fall  and  destruc- 
tion of  that  monstrous  heap  of  ill-contrived 
romances,  which,  though  abhorred  by  many, 
have  so  strangely  infatuated  the  greater  part 
of  mankind.  Mind  this,  and  your  business  is 
done. 

I  listened  very  attentively  to  my  friend's  dis- 
course, and  found  it  so  reasonable  and  convinc- 
ing, that,  without  any  reply,  I  took  his  advice, 
and  have  told  you  the  story  by  way  of  preface ; 
wherein  you  may  see,  gentlemen,  how  happy  I 
am  in  so  ingenious  a  friend,  to  whose  season- 
able counsel  you  are  all  obliged  for  the  omission 
of  all  this  pedantic  garniture  in  the  history  of 
the  renowned  Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha, 
whose  character  among  all  the  neighbors  about 
Montiel  is,  that  he  was  the  most  chaste  lover, 
and  the  most  valiant  knight,  that  has  been 
known  in  those  parts  these  many  years.  I  will 
not  urge  the  service  I  have  done  you  by  intro- 
ducing you  into  so  considerable  and  noble  a 
knight's  acquaintance,  but  only  beg  the  favor 
of  some  small  acknowledgment  for  recommend- 
ing you  to  the  familiarity  of  the  famous  Sancho 
PanQa.  his  squire,  in  whom,  in  my  opinion,  you 


12  THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

will  find  united  and  described  all  the  squire-like 
graces,  which  are  scattered  up  and  down  in  the 
whole  bead-roll  of  books  of  chivalry.  And 
now  I  take  my  leave,  entreating  you  not  to  for- 
get your  humble  servant 


THE 


LIFE   AND   ACHIEVEMENTS 


OF    THE    RENOWNED 


DON   QUIXOTE   DE   LA  MANCHA. 


PART  I.    BOOK  I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   QUALITY  AND   WAY   OF   LIVING   OF   THE   RENOWNED 
DON   QUIXOTE   DE   LA  MANCHA. 

AT  a  certain  village  in  La  Mancha,*  of  which  I 
cannot  remember  the  name,  there  lived  not  long 
ago  one  of  those  old-fashioned  gentlemen,  who  are 
never  without  a  lance  upon  a  rack,  an  old  target,  a 
lean  horse,  and  a  greyhound.  His  diet  consisted 
more  of  beef  than  mutton ;  and  with  minced  meat 
on  most  nights,  lentiles  on  Fridays,  griefs  and  groans 
on  Saturdays,  and  a  pigeon  extraordinary  on  Sun- 

*  A  small  territory,  partly  in  the  kingdom  of  Arragon,  and 
partly  in  Castile ;  it  is  a  liberty  within  itself,  distinct  from  all  the 
country  about. 


14  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

days,  he  consumed  three  quarters  of  his  revenue; 
the  rest  was  laid  out  in  a  plash  coat,  velvet  breeches, 
with  slippers  of  the  same,  for  holidays ;  and  a  suit 
of  the  very  best  home-spun  cloth,  which  he  be- 
stowed on  himself  for  working  days.  His  whole 
family  was  a  housekeeper  something  turned  of 
forty,  a  niece  not  twenty,  and  a  man  that  served 
him  in  the  house  and  in  the  field,  and  could  saddle 
a  horse  and  handle  the  priming-hook.  The  master 
himself  was  nigh  fifty  years  of  age,  of  a  hale  and 
strong  complexion,  lean-bodied,  and  thin-faced,  an 
early  riser,  and  a  lover  of  hunting.  Some  say  his 
surname  was  Quixada  or  Quesada,  (for  authors 
differ  in  this  particular ;)  however,  we  may  reason- 
ably conjecture,  he  was  called  Quixada,  (that  is, 
lantern-jaws,)  though  this  concerns  us  but  little, 
provided  we  keep  strictly  to  the  truth  in  every  point 
of  this  history. 

You  must  know,  then,  that  when  our  gentleman 
had  nothing  to  do,  (which  was  almost  all  the  year 
round,)  he  past  his  time  in  reading  books  of  knight- 
errantry,  which  he  did  with  that  application  and 
delight,  that  at  last  he  in  a  manner  wholly  left  off 
his  country  sports,  and  even  the  care  of  his  estate ; 
nay,  he  grew  so  strangely  besotted  with  these  amuse- 
ments, that  he  sold  many  acres  of  arable  land  to 
purchase  books  of  that  kind,  by  which  means  he 
collected  as  many  of  them  as  were  to  be  had ;  but, 
among  them  all,  none  pleased  him  like  the  works 
of  the  famous  Feliciano  de  Sylva ;  for  the  clearness 
of  his  prose,  and  those  intricate  expressions  with 
which  it  is  interlaced,  seemed  to  him  so  many  pearls 
of  eloquence,  especially  when  he  came  to  read  the 


DON   QUIXOTE.  15 

challenges,  and  the  amorous  addresses,  many  of 
them  in  this  extraordinary  style :  "  The  reason  of 
your  unreasonable  usage  of  my  reason,  does  so  en- 
feeble my  reason,  that  I  have  reason  to  expostulate 
with  your  beauty."  And  this,  "The  sublime  hea- 
vens, which  with  your  divinity  divinely  fortify  you 
with  the  stars,  and  fix  you  the  deserver  of  the  desert 
that  is  deserved  by  your  grandeur."  These,  and 
such  like  expressions,  strangely  puzzled  the  poor 
gentleman's  understanding,  while  he  was  breaking 
his  brain  to  unravel  their  meaning,  which  Aristotle 
himself  could  never  have  found,  though  he  should 
have  been  raised  from  the  dead  for  that  very  pur- 
pose. 

He  did  not  so  well  like  those  dreadful  wounds 
which  Don  Belianis  gave  and  received ;  for  he  con- 
sidered that  all  the  art  of  surgery  could  never  secure 
his  face  and  body  from  being  strangely  disfigured 
with  scars.  However,  he  highly  commended  the 
author  for  concluding  his  book  with  a  promise  to 
finish  that  unfinishable  adventure;  and  many  times 
he  had  a  desire  to  put  pen  to  paper,  and  faithfully 
and  literally  finish  it  himself;  which  he  had  cer- 
tainly done,  and  doubtless  with  good  success,  had 
not  his  thoughts  been  wholly  engrossed  in  much 
more  important  designs. 

He  would  often  dispute  with  the  curate  *  of  the 
parish,  a  man  of  learning,  that  had  taken  his  de- 
grees at  Giguenza,  who  was  the  better  knight,  Pal- 
rnerin  of  England,  or  Amadis  de  Gaul ;  but  Master 


*  In  Spain,  the  curate  is  the  head  priest  in  the  parish,  and  he 
that  has  the  cure  of  souls. 


16  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

Nicholas,  the  barber  of  the  same  town,  would  say, 
that  none  of  them  could  compare  with  the  Knight 
of  the  Sun ;  and  that  if  any  one  came  near  him, 
it  was  certainly  Don  Galaor,  the  brother  of  Amadis 
de  Gaul ;  for  he  was  a  man  of  a  most  commodious 
temper,  neither  was  he  so  finical,  nor  such  a  puling 
whining  lover  as  his  brother ;  and  as  for  courage, 
he  was  not  a  jot  behind  him. 

In  fine,  he  gave  himself  up  so  wholly  to  the 
reading  of  romances,  that  a-nights  he  would  pore 
on  until  it  was  day,  and  a-days  he  would  read  on 
until  it  was  night ;  and  thus  by  sleeping  little,  and 
reading  much,  the  moisture  of  his  brain  was  ex- 
hausted to  that  degree,  that  at  last  he  lost  the 
use  of  his  reason.  A  world  of  disorderly  notions, 
picked  out  of  his  books,  crowded  into  his  imagina- 
tion ;  and  now  his  head  was  full  of  nothing  but 
enchantments,  quarrels,  battles,  challenges,  wounds, 
complaints,  amours,  torments,  and  abundance  of 
stuff  and  impossibilities ;  insomuch,  that  all  the 
fables  and  fantastical  tales  which  he  read,  seemed 
to  him  now  as  true  as  the  most  authentic  histories. 
He  would  say,  that  the  Cid  Ruydiaz  was  a  very 
brave  knight,  but  not  worthy  to  stand  in  compe- 
tition with  the  Knight  of  the  Burning-sword,  who, 
with  a  single  back-stroke,  had  cut  in  sunder  two 
fierce  and  mighty  giants.  He  liked  yet  better  Ber- 
nardo del  Carpio,  who,  at  Roncesvalles,  deprived 
of  life  the  enchanted  Orlando,  having  lifted  him 
from  the  ground,  and  choked  him  in  the  air,  as 
Hercules  did  Antaeus,  the  son  of  the  Earth. 

As  for  the  giant  Morgan te,  he  always  spoke  very 
civil  things  of  him  ;  for  though  he  was  one  of  that 


DON   QUIXOTE.  17 

monstrous  brood,  who  ever  were  intolerably  proud 
and  brutish,  he  still  behaved  himself  like  a  civil 
and  well-bred  person. 

But  of  all  men  in  the  world  he  admired  Rinaldo 
of  Montalban,  and  particularly  his  sallying  out  of 
his  castle  to  rob  all  he  met;  and  then  again  when 
abroad  he  carried  away  the  idol  of  Mahomet,  which 
•  was  all  massy  gold,  as  the  history  says;  but  he  so 
hated  that  traitor  Galalon,  that  for  the  pleasure  of 
kicking  him  handsomely,  he  would  have  given  up 
his  housekeeper;  nay,  and  his  niece  into  the  bar- 
gain. 

Having  thus  lost  his  understanding,  he  unluckily 
stumbled  upon  the  oddest  fancy  that  ever  entered 
into  a  madman's  brain ;  for  now  he  thought  it  con- 
venient and  necessary,  as  well  for  the  increase  of 
his  own  honor,  as  the  service  of  the  public,  to  turn 
knight-errant,  and  roam  through  the  whole  world, 
armed  cap-a-pie,  and  mounted  on  his  steed,  in 
quest  of  adventures  ;  that  thus  imitating  those 
knight-errants  of  whom  he  had  read,  and  follow- 
ing their  course  of  life,  redressing  all  manner  of 
grievances,  and  exposing  himself  to  danger  on  all 
occasions,  at  last,  after  a  happy  conclusion  of  his 
enterprises,  he  might  purchase  everlasting  honor 
and  renown.  Transported  with  these  agreeable 
delusions,  the  poor  gentleman  already  grasped  in 
imagination  the  imperial  sceptre  of  Trebizonde, 
and,  hurried  away  by  his  mighty  expectations,  he 
prepares  with  all  expedition  to  take  the  field. 

The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  scour  a  suit  of 
armor  that  had  belonged  to  his  great  grandfather, 
and  had  lain  time  out  of  mind  carelessly  rusting  in 

VOL.  i.  2 


18  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

a  corner ;  but  when  he  had  cleaned  and  repaired  it 
as  well  as  he  could,  he  perceived  there  was  a  mate- 
rial piece  wanting;  for,  instead  of  a  complete  hel- 
met, there  was  only  a  single  head-piece.  However, 
his  industry  supplied  that  defect;  for  with  some 
pasteboard  he  made  a  kind  of  half-beaver  or  vizor, 
which,  being  fitted  to  the  head-piece,  made  it  look 
like  an  entire  helmet.  Then,  to  know  whether  it 
were  cutlass-proof,  he  drew  his  sword,  and  tried  its 
edge  upon  the  pasteboard  vizor ;  but  with  the  very 
first  stroke  he  unluckily  undid  in  a  moment  what 
he  had  been  a  whole  week  a-doing.  He  did  not 
like  its  being  broke  with  so  much  ease,  and  there- 
fore, to  secure  it  from  the  like  accident,  he  made  it 
a-new,  and  fenced  it  with  thin  plates  of  iron,  which 
he  fixed  on  the  inside  of  it  so  artificially,  that  at 
last  he  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the  solidity 
of  the  work;  and  so,  without  any  further  experi- 
ment, he  resolved  it  should  pass  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  for  a  full  and  sufficient  helmet. 

The  next  moment  he  went  to  view  his  horse, 
whose  bones  stuck  out  like  the  corners  of  a  Spa- 
nish real,  being  a  worse  jade  than  Gonela's,  qui 
tantum  pellis  et  ossa  fuit ,  however,  his  master 
thought,  that  neither  Alexander's  Bucephalus,  nor 
the  Cid's  Babieca,  could  be  compared  with  him. 
He  was  four  days  considering  what  name  to  give 
him ;  for,  as  he  argued  with  himself,  there  was  no 
reason  that  a  horse  bestrid  by  so  famous  a  knight, 
and  withal  so  excellent  in  himself,  should  not  be 
distinguished  by  a  particular  name ;  and,  therefore, 
he  studied  to  give  him  such  a  one  as  should  de- 
monstrate as  well  what  kind  of  horse  he  had  been 


DON   QUIXOTE.  19 

before  his  master  was  a  knight-errant,  as  what  he 
was  now ;  thinking  it  but  just,  since  the  owner 
changed  his  profession,  that  the  horse  should  also 
change  his  title,  and  be  dignified  with  another;  a 
good  big  word,  such  a  one  as  should  fill  the  mouth, 
and  seem  consonant  with  the  quality  and  profes- 
sion of  his  master.  And  thus  after  many  names 
which  he  devised,  rejected,  changed,  liked,  disliked, 
and  pitched  upon  again,  he  concluded  to  call  him 
Rozinante;*  a  name,  in  his  opinion,  lofty,  sound- 
ing, and  significant  of  what  he  had  been  before, 
and  also  of  what  he  was  now;  in  a  word,  a  horse 
before,  or  above,  all  the  vulgar  breed  of  horses  in 
the  world. 

When  he  had  thus  given  his  horse  a  name  so 
much  to  his  satisfaction,  he  thought  of  choosing 
one  for  himself;  and  having  seriously  pondered  on 
the  matter  eight  whole  days  more,  at  last  he  deter- 
mined to  call  himself  Don  Quixote.  Whence  the 
author  of  this  most  authentic  history  draws  this 
inference,  that  his  right  name  was  Quixada,  and 
not  Quesada,  as  others  obstinately  pretend.  And 
observing,  that  the  valiant  Amadis,  not  satisfied 
with  the  bare  appellation  of  Amadis,  added  to  it  the 
name  of  his  country,  that  it  might  grow  more 
famous  by  his  exploits,  and  so  styled  himself  Ama- 
dis de  Gaul ;  so  he,  like  a  true  lover  of  his  native 
soil,  resolved  to  call  himself  Don  Quixote  de  la 

* Rozin  commonly  means  an  ordinary  horse;  ante  signifies 
before  and  formerly.  Thus  the  word  Rozinante  may  imply, 
that  he  was  formerly  an  ordinary  horse,  and  also,  that  he  is  now 
a  horse  that  claims  the  precedence  from  all  other  ordinary 
horses. 


20  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

Mancha ;  which  addition,  to  his  thinking,  denoted 
very  plainly  his  parentage  and  country,  and  conse- 
quently would  fix  a  lasting  honor  on  that  part  of 
the  world. 

And  now,  his  armor  being  scoured,  his  head- 
piece improved  to  a  helmet,  his  horse  and  himself 
new  named,  he  perceived  he  wanted  nothing  but 
a  lady,  on  whom  he  might  bestow  the  empire  of 
his  heart ;  for  he  was  sensible  that  a  knight-errant 
without  a  mistress,  was  a  tree  without  either  fruit 
or  leaves,  and  a  body  without  a  soul.  Should  I, 
said  he  to  himself,  by  good  or  ill  fortune,  chance  to 
encounter  some  giant,  as  it  is  common  in  knight- 
errantry,  and  happen  to  lay  him  prostrate  on  the 
ground,  transfixed  with  my  lance,  or  cleft  in  two, 
or,  in  short,  overcome  him,  and  have  him  at  my 
mercy,  would  it  not  be  proper  to  have  some  lady, 
to  whom  I  may  send  him  as  a  trophy  of  my  valor  ? 
Then  when  he  comes  into  her  presence,  throwing 
himself  at  her  feet,  he  may  thus  make  his  humble 
submission :  "  Lady,  I  am  the  giant  Caraculiam- 
bro,  lord  of  the  island  of  Malindrania,  vanquished 
in  single  combat  by  that  never-deservedly-enough- 
extolled  knight-errant  Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha, 
who  has  commanded  me  to  cast  myself  most  hum- 
bly at  your  feet,  that  it  may  please  your  honor  to 
dispose  of  me  according  to  your  will."  Oh  !  how 
elevated  was  the  knight  with  the  conceit  of  this 
imaginary  submission  of  the  giant;  especially  hav- 
ing withal  bethought  himself  of  a  person,  on  whom 
he  might  confer  the  title  of  his  mistress !  which,  it 
is  believed,  happened  thus :  Near  the  place  where 
he  lived,  dwelt  a  good  likely  country  lass,  for  whom 


DON    QUIXOTE.  21 

he  had  formerly  had  a  sort  of  an  inclination,  though, 
it  is  believed,  she  never  heard  of  it,  nor  regarded  it 
in  the  least.  Her  name  was  Aldonza  Lorenzo,  and 
this  was  she  whom  he  thought  he  might  entitle  to 
the  sovereignty  of  his  heart ;  upon  which  he  studied 
to  find  her  out  a  new  name,  that  might  have  some 
affinity  with  her  old  one,  and  yet  at  the  same  time 
sound  somewhat  like  that  of  a  princess,  or  lady  of 
quality ;  so  at  last  he  resolved  to  call  her  Dulcinea, 
with  the  addition  of  del  Toboso,  from  the  place 
where  she  was  born  ;  a  name,  in  his  opinion,  sweet, 
harmonious,  extraordinary,  and  no  less  significative 
than  the  others  which  he  had  devised.  - 


CHAPTER   II. 

OF  DON  QUIXOTE'S  FIRST  SALLY. 

THESE  preparations  being  made,  he  found  his  de- 
signs ripe  for  action,  and  thought  it  now  a  crime  to 
deny  himself  any  longer  to  the  injured  world,  that 
wanted  such  a  deliverer ;  the  more  when  he  con- 
sidered what  grievances  he  was  to  redress,  what 
wrongs  and  injuries  to  remove,  what  abuses  to  cor- 
rect, and  what  duties  to  discharge.  So  one  morn- 
ing before  day,  in  the  greatest  heat  of  July,  with- 
out acquainting  any  one  with  his  design,  with  all 
the  secrecy  imaginable,  he  armed  himself  cap-a-pie, 
laced  on  his  ill-contrived  helmet,  braced  on  his  tar- 
get, grasped  his  lance,  mounted  Rozinante,  and  at 
the  private  door  of  his  back-yard  sallied  out  into 
the  fields,  wonderfully  pleased  to  see  with  how 


22  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

much  ease  he  had  succeeded  in  the  beginning  of 
his  enterprise.  But  he  had  not  gone  far  ere  a  terri- 
ble thought  alarmed  him,  a  thought  that  had  like 
to  have  made  him  renounce  his  great  undertaking; 
for  now  it  came  into  his  mind,  that  the  honor  of 
knighthood  had  not  yet  been  conferred  upon  him, 
and  therefore,  according  to  the  laws  of  chivalry,  he 
neither  could,  nor  ought  to  appear  in  arms  against 
any  professed  knight;  nay,  he  also  considered,  that 
though  he  were  already  knighted,  it  would  become 
him  to  wear  white  armor,  and  not  to  adorn  his 
shield  with  any  device,  until  he  had  deserved  one 
by  some  extraordinary  demonstration  of  his  valor. 

These  thoughts  staggered  his  resolution  ;  but  his 
folly  prevailing  more  than  any  reason,  he  resolved 
to  be  dubbed  a  knight  by  the  first  he  should  meet, 
after  the  example  of  several  others,  who,  as  his  dis- 
tracting romances  informed  him,  had  formerly  done 
the  like.  As  for  the  other  difficulty  about  wearing 
white  armor,  he  proposed  to  overcome  it,  by  scour- 
ing his  own  at  leisure  until  it  should  look  whiter 
than  ermine.  And  having  thus  dismissed  these 
busy  scruples,  he  very  calmly  rode  on,  leaving  it  to 
his  horse's  discretion  to  go  which  way  he  pleased  ; 
firmly  believing,  that  in  this  consisted  the  very 
being  of  adventures.  And  as  he  thus  went  on,  I 
cannot  but  believe,  said  he  to  himself,  that  when 
the  history  of  my  famous  achievements  shall  be 
given  to  the  world,  the  learned  author  will  begin  it 
in  this  very  manner,  when  he  comes  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  this  my  early  setting  out :  "  Scarce  had 
the  ruddy-colored  Phoebus  begun  to  spread  the 
golden  tresses  of  his  lovely  hair  over  the  vast  sur- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  23 

face  of  the  earthly  globe,  and  scarce  had  those 
feathered  poets  of  the  grove,  the  pretty  painted 
birds,  tuned  their  little  pipes,  to  sing  their  early 
welcomes  in  soft  melodious  strains  to  the  beautiful 
Aurora,  who,  having  left  her  jealous  husband's  bed, 
displayed  her  rosy  graces  to  mortal  eyes  from  the 
gates  and  balconies  of  the  Manchegan  horizon, 
when  the  renowned  knight  Don  Quixote  de  la 
Mancha,  disdaining  soft  repose,  forsook  the  volup- 
tuous down,  and,  mounting  his  famous  steed  Rozi- 
nante,  entered  the  ancient  and  celebrated  plains 
.  of  Montiel."  *  This  was  indeed  the  very  road  he 
took;  and  then  proceeding,  "  O  happy  age!  O  for- 
tunate times ! "  cried  he,  "  decreed  to  usher  into  the 
world  my  famous  achievements  :  achievements 
worthy  to  be  engraven  on  brass,  carved  on  marble, 
and  delineated  in  some  masterpiece  of  painting,  as 
monuments  of  my  glory,  and  examples  for  poste- 
rity! And  thou,  venerable  sage,  wise  enchanter, 
whatever  be  thy  name  ;  thou  whom  fate  has  or- 
dained to  be  the  compiler  of  this  rare  history,  for- 
get not,  I  beseech  thee,  my  trusty  Rozinante,  the 
eternal  companion  of  all  my  adventures."  After 
this,  as  if  he  had  been  really  in  love :  "  O  Princess 
Duleinea,"  cried  he,  "lady  of  this  captive  heart, 
much  sorrow  and  woe  you  have  doomed  me  to  in 
banishing  me  thus,  and  imposing  on  me  your  rigor- 
ous commands,  never  to  appear  before  your  beaute- 
ous face  !  Remember,  lady,  that  loyal  heart  your 

*  Montiel,  a  proper  field  to  inspire  courage,  being  the  ground 
upon  which  Henry  the  Bastard  slew  his  legitimate  brother  Don 
Pedro,  whom  our  brave  Black  Prince  Edward  had  set  upon  the 
throne  of  Spain. 


24  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

slave,  who  for  your  love  submits  to  so  many  mise- 
ries." To  these  extravagant  conceits,  he  added  a 
world  of  others,  all  in  imitation,  and  in  the  very 
style  of  those,  which  the  leading  of  romances  had 
furnished  him  with ;  and  all  this  while  he  rode  so 
softly,  and  the  sun's  heat  increased  so  fast,  and  was 
so  violent,  that  it  would  have  been  sufficient  to 
have  melted  his  brains,  had  he  had  any  left. 

He  travelled  almost  all  that  day  without  meeting 
any  adventure  worth  the  trouble  of  relating,  which 
put  him  into  a  kind  of  despair;  for  he  desired  no- 
thing more  than  to  encounter  immediately  some 
person  on  whom  he  might  try  the  vigor  of  his  arm. 

Some  authors  say,  that  his  first  adventure  was 
that  of  the  pass,  called  Puerto  Lapice  ;  others,  that 
of  the  Wind- Mills  ;  but  all  that  I  could  discover  of 
certainty  in  this  matter,  and  that  I  meet  with  in  the 
annals  of  La  Mancha,  is,  that  he  travelled  all  that 
day ;  and  towards  the  evening,  he  and  his  horse 
being  heartily  tired,  and  almost  famished,  Don 
Quixote  looking  about  him,  in  hopes  to  discover 
some  castle,  or  at  least  some  shepherd's  cottage, 
there  to  repose  and  refresh  himself,  at  last  near  the 
road  which  he  kept,  he  espied  an  inn,  as  welcome 
a  sight  to  his  longing  eyes  as  if  he  had  discovered 
a  star  directing  him  to  the  gate,  nay,  to  the  palace 
of  his  redemption.  Thereupon  hastening  towards 
the  inn  with  all  the  speed  he  could,  he  got  thither 
just  at  the  close  of  the  evening.  There  stood  by 
chance  at  the  inn  door  two  young  female  adventur- 
ers, alias  common  wenches,  who  were  going  to 
Seville  with  some  carriers,  that  happened  to  take 
up  their  lodging  there  that  very  evening;  and,  as 


DON   QUIXOTE.  25 

whatever  our  knight-errant  saw,  thought,  or  ima- 
gined, was  all  of  a  romantic  cast,  and  appeared  to 
him  altogether  after  the  manner  of  the  books  that 
had  perverted  his  imagination,  he  no  sooner  saw 
the  inn,  but  he  fancied  it  to  be  a  castle  fenced  with 
four  towers,  and  lofty  pinnacles  glittering  with  sil- 
ver, together  with  a  deep  moat,  draw-bridge,  and 
all  those  other  appurtenances  peculiar  to  such  kind 
of  places. 

Therefore  when  he  came  near  it,  he  stopped  a 
while  at  a  distance  from  the  gate,  expecting  that 
some  dwarf  would  appear  on  the  battlements,  and 
sound  his  trumpet  to  give  notice  of  the  arrival  of 
a  knight;  but  finding  that  nobody  came,  and  that 
Rozinante  was  for  making  the  best  of  his  way  to 
the  stable,  he  advanced  to  the  inn  door,  where  spy- 
ing the  two  young  doxies,  they  seemed  to  him  two 
beautiful  damsels,  or  graceful  ladies,  taking  the  be- 
nefit of  the  fresh  air  at  the  g'ate  of  the  castle.  It 
happened  also  at  the  very  moment,  that  a  swine- 
herd getting  together  his  hogs  (for,  without  begging 
pardon,  so  they  are  called*)  from  the  stubble-field, 
winded  his  horn ;  and  Don  Quixote  presently  ima- 
gined this  was  the  wished-for  signal,  which  some 
dwarf  gave  to  notify  his  approach ;  therefore,  with 
the  greatest  joy  in  the  world,  he  rode  up  to  the  inn. 
The  wenches,  affrighted  at  the  approach  of  a  man 
cased  in  iron,  and  armed  with  a  lance  and  target, 


*  In  the  original,  (que  sin  perdon  assi  se  llaman.)  In  this  pa- 
renthesis the  author  ridicules  the  affected  delicacy  of  the  Spa- 
niards and  Italians,  who  look  upon  it  as  ill  manners  to  name 
the  word  hog  or  swine,  as  too  gross  an  image. 


26  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OP 

were  for  running  into  their  lodging  ;  but  Don  Quix- 
ote perceiving  their  fear  by  their  flight,  lifted  up  the 
pasteboard  beaver  of  his  helmet,  and  discovering 
his  withered,  dusty  face,  with  comely  grace  and 
grave  delivery,  accosted  them  in  this  manner:  "I 
beseech  ye,  ladies,  do  not  fly,  nor  fear  the  least  of- 
fence; the  order  of  knighthood,  which  I  profess, 
does  not  permit  me  to  countenance  or  offer  injuries 
to  any  one  in  the  universe,  and,  least  of  all,  to  vir- 
gins of  such  high  rank  as  your  presence  denotes." 
The  wenches  looked  earnestly  upon  him,  endeavor- 
ing to  get  a  glimpse  of  his  face,  which  his  ill-con- 
trived beaver  partly  hid ;  but  when  they  heard 
themselves  styled  virgins,  a  thing  so  out  of  the  way 
of  their  profession,  they  could  not  forbear  laughing 
outright,  which  Don  Quixote  resented  as  a  great 
affront.  "  Give  me  leave  to  tell  ye,  ladies,"  cried 
he,  "  that  modesty  and  civility  are  very  becoming 
in  the  fair  sex ;  whereas  laughter  without  ground 
is  the  highest  piece  of  indiscretion ;  however," 
added  he,  "  I  do  not  presume  to  say  this  to  offend 
you,  or  incur  your  displeasure;  no,  ladies,  I  assure 
you,  I  have  no  other  design  but  to  do  you  service." 
This  uncommon  way  of  expression,  joined  to  the 
knight's  scurvy  figure,  increased  their  mirth,  which 
incensed  him  to  that  degree,  that  this  might  have 
carried  things  to  an  extremity,  had  not  the  inn- 
keeper luckily  appeared  at  that  juncture.  He  was 
a  man  whose  burden  of  fat  inclined  him  to  peace 
and  quietness,  yet  when  he  had  observed  such  a 
strange  disguise  of  human  shape  in  his  old  armor 
and  equipage,  he  could  hardly  forbear  keeping  the 
wenches  company  in  their  laughter ;  but  having  the 


DON   QUIXOTE.  27 

fear  of  such  a  warlike  appearance  before  his  eyes, 
he  resolved  to  give  him  good  words,  and  therefore 
accosted  him  civilly :  "  Sir  Knight,"  said  he,  "  if 
your  worship  be  disposed  to  alight,  you  will  fail  of 
nothing  here  but  of  a  bed  ;  as  for  all  other  accom- 
modations, you  may  be  supplied  to  your  rnind." 
Don  Quixote  observing  the  humility  of  the  governor 
of  the  castle,  (for  such  the  innkeeper  and  inn 
seemed  to  him,)  "  Senior  Castellano,"  said  he,  "  the 
least  thing  in  the  world  suffices  me ;  for  arms  are 
the  only  things  I  value,  arid  combat  is  my  bed  of 
repose."  The  innkeeper  thought  he  had  called 
him  Castellano,*  as  taking  him  to  be  one  of  the 
true  Castilians,  whereas  he  was  indeed  of  Andalu- 
sia, nay,  of  the  neighborhood  of  St.  Lucar,  no  less 
thievish  than  Cacus,  or  less  mischievous  than  a 
truant-scholar,  or  court-page,  and  therefore  he  made 
him  this  reply :  "  At  this  rate,  Sir  Knight,  your  bed 
might  be  a  pavement,  and  your  rest  to  be  still 
awake;  you  may  then  safely  alight,  and  I  dare  as- 
sure you,  you  can  hardly  miss  being  kept  awake  all 
the  year  long  in  this  house,  much  less  one  single 
night."  With  that  he  went  and  held  Don  Quix- 
ote's stirrup,  who,  having  not  broke  his  fast  that 
day,  dismounted  with  no  small  trouble  or  difficulty. 
He  immediately  desired  the  governor  (that  is,  the 
innkeeper)  to  have  special  cave  of  his  steed,  assur- 
ing him  that  there  was  not  a  better  in  the  universe  ; 
upon  which  the  innkeeper  viewed  him  narrowly, 
but  could  not  think  him  to  be  half  so  good  as  Don 

*  Castellano  signifies  both  a  constable  or  governor  of  a  castle, 
and  an  inhabitant  of  the  kingdom  of  Castile  in  Spain. 


28  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

Quixote  said.  However,  having  set  him  up  in  the 
stable,  he  came  back  to  the  knight  to  see  what  he 
wanted,  and  found  him  pulling  off'  his  armor  by  the 
help  of  the  good-natured  wenches,  who  had  already 
reconciled  themselves  to  him ;  but  though  they  had 
eased  him  of  his  corselet  and  back-plate,  they  could 
by  no  means  undo  his  gorget,  nor  take  off  his  ill- 
contrived  beaver,  which  he  had  tied  so  fast  with 
green  ribbons,  that  it  was  impossible  to  get  it  off 
without  cutting  them ;  now  he  would  by  no  means 
permit  that,  and  so  was  forced  to  keep  on  his  hel- 
met all  night,  which  was  one  of  the  most  pleasant 
sights  in  the  world ;  and  while  his  armor  was  taking 
off  by  the  two  kind  lasses,  imagining  them  to  be 
persons  of  quality,  and  ladies  of  that  castle,  he  very 
gratefully  made  them  the  following  compliment,  (in 
imitation  of  an  old  romance,) 

"  There  never  was  on  earth  a  knight 

So  waited  on  by  ladies  fair, 
As  once  was  he,  Don  Quixote  hight, 

When  first  he  left  his  village  dear : 
Damsels  to  undress  him  ran  with  speed, 
And  princesses  to  dress  his  steed." 

O  Rozinante !  for  that  is  my  horse's  name,  ladies, 
and  mine  Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha.  I  never 
thought  to  have  discovered  it,  until  some  feats  of 
arms,  achieved  by  me  in  your  service,  had  made 
me  better  known  to  your  ladyships  ;  but  necessity 
forcing  me  to  apply  to  present  purpose  that  passage 
of  the  ancient  romance  of  Sir  Lancelot,  which  I 
now  repeat,  has  extorted  the  secret  from  me  before 
its  time  ;  yet  a  day  will  come,  when  you  shall  com- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  29 

t 

mand,  and  I  obey,  and  then  the  valor  of  my  arm 
shall  evince  the  reality  of  my  zeal  to  serve  your 
ladyships." 

The  two  females,  who  were  not  used  to  such  rhe- 
torical speeches,  could  make  no  answer  to  this; 
they  only  asked  him  whether  he  would  eat  any 
thing  ?  "  That  I  will  with  all  my  heart,"  cried  Don 
Quixote,  "  whatever  it  be,  for  I  am  of  opinion  no- 
thing can  come  to  me  more  seasonably."  Now,  as 
ill-luck  would  have  it,  it  happened  to  be  Friday, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  be  had  at  the  inn  but 
some  pieces  of  fish,  which  is  called  abadexo  in  Cas- 
tile, bacallao  in  Andalusia,  curadillo  in  some  places, 
and  in  others  truchuela,  or  little  trout,  though  after 
all  it  is  but  poor  Jack ;  so  they  asked  him,  whether 
he  could  eat  any  of  that  truchuela,  because  they 
had  no  other  fish  to  give  him.  Don  Quixote  ima- 
gining they  meant  a  small  trout,  told  them,  "  That, 
provided  there  were  more  than  one,  it  was  the  same 
thing  to  him,  they  would  serve  him  as  well  as  a 
great  one ;  for,"  continued  he,  "  it  is  all  one  to  me 
whether  I  am  paid  a  piece  of  eight  in  one  single 
piece,  or  in  eight  small  reals,  which  are  worth  as 
much.  Besides,  it  is  probable  these  small  trouts 
may  be  like  veal,  which  is  finer  meat  than  beef;  or 
like  the  kid,  which  is  better  than  the  goat.  In 
short,  let  it  be  what  it  will,  so  it  comes  quickly ;  for 
the  weight  of  armor  and  the  fatigue  of  travel  are 
not  to  be  supported  without  recruiting  food." 
Thereupon  they  laid  the  cloth  at  the  inn  door,  for 
the  benefit  of  the  fresh  air.  and  the  landlord  brought 
him  a  piece  of  that  salt  fish,  but  ill-watered,  and  as 
ill-dressed  ;  and  as  for  the  bread,  it  was  as  mouldy 


30  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

•» 

and  brown  as  the  knight's  armor.  But  it  would 
have  made  one  laugh  to  have  seen  him  eat;  for, 
having  his  helmet  on,  with  his  beaver  lifted  up,  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  feed  himself  without 
help,  so  that  one  of  those  ladies  had  that  office ;  but 
there  was  no  giving  him  drink  that  way,  and  he 
must  have  gone  without  it,  had  not  the  innkeeper 
bored  a  cane,  and  setting  one  end  of  it  to  his 
mouth,  poured  the  wine  in  at  the  other ;  all  which 
the  knight  suffered  patiently,  because  he  would  not 
cut  the  ribbons  that  fastened  his  helmet. 

While  he  was  at  supper,  a  sow-gelder  happened 
to  sound  his  cane-trumpet,  or  whistle  of  reeds,  four 
or  five  times  as  he  came  near  the  inn,  which  made 
Don  Quixote  the  more  positive  of  his  being  in  a 
famous  castle,  where  he  was  entertained  with  music 
at  supper,  that  the  poor  jack  was  young  trout,  the 
bread  of  the  finest  flour,  the  wenches  great  ladies, 
and  the  innkeeper  the  governor  of  the  castle,  which 
made  him  applaud  himself  for  his  resolution,  and 
his  setting  out  on  such  an  account.  The  only  thing 
that  vexed  him  was,  that  he  was  not  yet  dubbed  a 
knight ;  for  he  fancied  he  could  not  lawfully  under- 
take any  adventure  till  he  had  received  the  order  of 
knighthood. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  31 


CHAPTER  III. 

AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  PLEASANT  METHOD  TAKEN  BY  DON 
QUIXOTE  TO  BE  DUBBED  A  KNIGHT. 

DON  QUIXOTE'S  mind  being  disturbed  with  that 
thought,  he  abridged  even  his  short  supper;  and  as 
soon  as  he  had  done,  he  called  his  host,  then  shut 
him  and  himself  up  in  the  stable,  and  falling  at  his 
feet,  "  I  will  never  rise  from  this  place,"  cried  he, 
"  most  valorous  knight,  till  you  have  graciously 
vouchsafed  to  grant  me  a  boon,  which  I  will  now 
beg  of  you,  and  which  will  redound  to  your  honor 
and  the  good  of  mankind."  The  innkeeper, 
strangely  at  a  loss  to  find  his  guest  at  his  feet,  and 
talking  at  this  rate,  endeavored  to  make  him  rise ; 
but  all  in  vain,  till  he  had  promised  to  grant  him 
what  he  asked.  "  I  expected  no  less  from  your 
great  magnificence,  noble  sir,"  replied  Don  Quixote ; 
"  and  therefore  I  make  bold  to  tell  you,  that  the 
boon  which  I  beg,  and  you  generously  condescend 
to  grant  me,  is,  that  to-morrow  you  will  be  pleased 
to  bestow  the  honor  of  knighthood  upon  me.  This 
night  I  will  watch  my  armor  in  the  chapel  of  your 
castle,  and  then  in  the  morning  you  shall  gratify 
me,  as  I  passionately  desire,  that  I  may  be  duly 
qualified  to  seek  out  adventures  in  every  corner  of 
the  universe,  to  relieve  the  distressed,  according  to 
the  laws  of  chivalry,  and  the  inclinations  of  knights- 
errant  like  myself."  The  innkeeper,  who,  as  I  said, 
was  a  sharp  fellow,  and  had  already  a  shrewd  sus- 


32  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

picion  of  the  disorder  in  his  guest's  understanding, 
was  fully  convinced  of  it,  when  he  heard  him  talk 
after  this  manner;  and,  to  make  sport  that  night, 
resolved  to  humor  him  in  his  desires,  telling  him 
he  was  highly  to  be  commended  for  his  choice  of 
such  an  employment,  which  was  altogether  worthy 
a  knight  of  the  first  order,  such  as  his  gallant  de- 
portment discovered  him  to  be :  that  he  himself  had 
in  his  youth  followed  that  honorable  profession, 
ranging  through  many  parts  of  the  world  in  search 
of  adventures,  without  so  much  as  forgetting  to 
visit  the  *Percheles  of  Malaga,  the  isles  of  Riaran, 
the  compass  of  Sevil,  the  quicksilver-house  of  Se- 
govia, the  olive  field  of  Valencia,  the  circle  of  Gra- 
nada, the  wharf  of  St.  Lucar,  the  potro  of  Cordova,f 
the  hedge-taverns  of  Toledo,  and  divers  other 
places,  where  he  had  exercised  the  nimbleness  of 
his  feet,  and  the  subtility  of  his  hands,  doing  wrongs 
in  abundance,  soliciting  many  widows,  undoing 
some  damsels,  bubbling  young  heirs,  and  in  a  word 
making  himself  famous  in  most  of  the  courts  of 
judicature  in  Spain,  till  at  length  he  retired  to  this 
castle,  where  he  lived  on  his  own  estate  and  those 
of  others,  entertaining  all  knights-errant  of  what 
quality  or  condition  soever,  purely  for  the  great 
affection  he  bore  them,  and  to  partake  of  what  they 
got  in  recompense  of  his  good  will.  He  added, 
that  his  castle  at  present  had  no  chapel  where  the 

*  These  are  all  places  noted  for  rogueries  and  disorderly- 
doings.  See  Notes. 

f  A  square  in  the  city  of  Cordova,  where  a  fountain  gushes 
out  from  the  mouth  of  a  horse,  near  which  is  also  a  whipping- 
post The  Spanish  word  Potro  signifies  a  colt  or  young  horse. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  33 

knight  might  keep  the  vigil  of  his  arms,  it  being 
pulled  down  in  order  to  be  new  built;  but  that  he 
knew  they  might  lawfully  be  watched  in  any  other 
place  in  a  case  of  necessity,  and  therefore  he  might 
do  it  that  night  in  the  court-yard  of  the  castle ;  and 
in  the  morning  (God  willing)  all  the  necessary  cere- 
monies should  be  performed,  so  that  he  might  as- 
sure himself  he  should  be  dubbed  a  knight,  nay,  as 
much  a  knight  as  any  one  in  the  world  could  be. 
He  then  asked  Don  Quixote  whether  he  had  any 
money  ?  "  Not  a  cross,"  replied  the  knight,  "  for  I 
never  read  in  any  history  of  chivalry  that  any 
knight-errant  ever  carried  money  about  him." 
"You  are  mistaken,"  cried  the  innkeeper;  "for, 
admit  the  histories  are  silent  in  this  matter,  the 
authors  thinking  it  needless  to  mention  things  so 
evidently  necessary  as  money  and  clean  shirts,  yet 
there  is  no  reason  to  believe  the  knights  went  with- 
out either;  and  you  may  rest  assured,  that  all  the 
knights-errant,  of  whom  so  many  histories  are  full, 
had  their  purses  well  lined  to  supply  themselves 
with  necessaries,  and  carried  also  with  them  some 
shirts,  and  a  small  box  of  salves  to  heal  their 
wounds ;  for  they  had  not  the  conveniency  of  sur- 
geons to  cure  them  every  time  they  fought  in  fields 
and  deserts,  unless  they  were  so  happy  as  to  have 
some  sage  or  magician  for  their  friend  to  give  them 
present  assistance,  sending  them  some  damsel  01 
dwarf  through  the  air  in  a  cloud,  with  a  small  bot- 
tle of  water  of  so  great  a  virtue,  that  they  no 
sooner  tasted  a  drop  of  it,  but  their  wounds  were 
as  perfectly  cured  as  if  they  had  never  received 
any.  But  when  they  wanted  such  a  friend  in  for- 

VOL.  I.  3 


34  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

mer  ages,  the  knights  thought  themselves  obliged 
to  take  care  that  their  squires  should  be  provided 
with  money  and  other  necessaries,  as  lint  and  salves 
to  dress  their  wounds;  and  if  those  knights  ever 
happened  to  have  no  squires,  which  was  but  very 
seldom,  then  they  carried  those  things  behind  them 
in  a  little  bag,*  as  if  it  had  been  something  of 
greater  value,  and  so  neatly  fitted  to  their  saddle, 
that  it  was  hardly  seen ;  for  had  it  not  been  upon 
such  an  account,  the  carrying  of  wallets  was  not 
much  allowed  among  knights-errant.  I  must  there- 
fore advise  you,"  continued  he,  "  nay,  I  might  even 
charge  and  command  you,  as  you  are  shortly  to  be 
rny  son  in  chivalry,  never  from  this  time  forwards 
to  ride  without  money,  nor  without  the  other  neces- 
saries of  which  I  spoke  to  you,  which  you  will  find 
very  beneficial  when  you  least  expect  it."  Don 
Quixote  promised  to  perform  very  punctually  all 
his  injunctions ;  and  so  they  disposed  every  thing 
in  order  to  his  watching  his  arms  in  a  great  yard 
that  adjoined  to  the  inn.  To  which  purpose  the 
knight,  having  got  them  all  together,  laid  them  in  a 
horse-trough  close  by  a  well  in  that  yard ;  then 
bracing  his  target,  and  grasping  his  lance,  just  as  it 
grew  dark,  he  began  to  walk  about  by  the  horse- 
trough  with  a  graceful  deportment.  In  the  mean- 
while the  innkeeper  acquainted  all  those  that  were 
in  the  house  with  the  extravagances  of  his  guest, 
his  watching  his  arms,  and  his  hopes  of  being  made 
a  knight.  They  all  admired  very  much  at  so  strange 

*  Of  striped  stuff,  which  every  one  carries,  in  Spain,  when 
they  are  travelling. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  35 

a  kind  of  folly,  and  went  on  to  observe  him  at  a 
distance;  where  they  saw  him  sometimes  walk 
about  with  a  great  deal  of  gravity,  and  sometimes 
lean  on  his  lance,  with  his  eyes  all  the  while  fixed 
upon  his  arms.  It  was  now  undoubted  night,  but 
yet  the  moon  did  shine  with  such  a  brightness,  as 
might  almost  have  vied  with  that  of  the  luminary 
which  lent  it  her;  so  that  the  knight  was  wholly 
exposed  to  the  spectators'  view.  While  he  was 
thus  employed,  one  of  the  carriers  who  lodged  in 
the  inn  came  out  to  water  his  mules,  which  he  could 
not  do  without  removing  the  arms  out  of  the  trough. 
With  that,  Don  Quixote,  who  saw  him  make  to- 
wards him,  cried  out  to  him  aloud,  "  O  thou,  who- 
ever thou  art,  rash  knight,  that  prepares  to  lay  thy 
hands  on  the  arms  of  the  most  valorous  knight-er- 
rant that  ever  wore  a  sword,  take  heed  ;  do  not  au- 
daciously attempt  to  profane  them  with  a  touch, 
lest  instant  death  be  tfie  too  sure  reward  of  thy  te- 
merity." But  the  carrier  never  regarded  these 
dreadful  threats ;  and  laying  hold  on  the  armor  by 
the  straps,  without  any  more  ado  threw  it  a  good 
way  from  him ;  though  it  had  been  better  for  him 
to  have  let  it  alone;  for  Don  Quixote  no  sooner 
saw  this,  but  lifting  up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  ad- 
dressing his  thoughts,  as  it  seemed,  to  his  lady  Dul- 
cinea:  "Assist  me,  lady,"  cried  he,  "in  the  first 
opportunity  that  offers  itself  to  your  faithful  slave ; 
nor  let  your  favor  and  protection  be  denied  me  in 
this  first  trial  of  my  valor!"  Repeating  such  like 
ejaculations,  he  let  slip  his  target,  and  lifting  up  his 
lance  with  both  his  hands,  he  gave  the  carrier  such 
a  terrible  knock  on  his  inconsiderate  head  with  his 


36  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

lance,  that  he  laid  him  at  his  feet  in  a  woful  con- 
dition ;  and  had  he  backed  that  blow  with  another, 
the  fellow  would  certainly  have  had  no  need  of  a 
surgeon.  This  done,  Don  Quixote  took  up  his  ar- 
inor,  laid  it  again  in  the  horse-trough,  and  then 
walked  on  backwards  and  forwards  with  as  great 
unconcern  as  he  did  at  first. 

Soon  after  another  carrier,  not  knowing  what  had 
happened,  came  also  to  water  his  mules,  while  the 
first  yet  lay  on  the  ground  in  a  trance  ;  but  as  he 
offered  to  clear  the  trough  of  the  armor,  Don  Quix- 
ote, without  speaking  a  word,  or  imploring  any 
one's  assistance,  once  more  dropped  his  target, 
lifted  up  his  lance,  and  then  let  it  fall  so  heavily  on 
the  fellow's  pate,  that  without  damaging  his  lance, 
he  broke  the  carrier's  head  in  three  or  four  places. 
His  outcry  soon  alarmed  and  brought  thither  all  the 
people  in  the  inn,  and  the  landlord  among  the  rest ; 
which  Don  Quixote  perceiving,  "  Thou  Queen  of 
Beauty,"  cried  he,  bracing  on  his  shield,  and  draw- 
ing his  sword,  "  thou  courage  and  vigor  of  my 
weakened  heart,  now  is  the  time  when  thou  must 
enliven  thy  adventurous  slave  with  the  beams  of 
thy  greatness,  while  this  moment  he  is  engaging  in 
so  terrible  an  adventure ! "  With  this,  in  his  opinion, 
he  found  himself  supplied  with  such  an  addition 
of  courage,  that  had  all  the  carriers  in  the  world  at 
once  attacked  him,  he  would  undoubtedly  have 
faced  them  all.  On  the  other  side,  the  carriers, 
enraged  to  see  their  comrades  thus  used,  though 
they  were  afraid  to  come  near,  gave  the  knight 
such  a  volley  of  stones,  that  he  was  forced  to  shel- 
ter himself  as  well  as  he  could  under  the  covert  of 


DON   QUIXOTE.  37 

his  target,  without  daring  to  go  far  from  the  horse- 
trough,  lest  he  should*  seem  to  abandon  his  arms. 
The  innkeeper  called  to  the  carriers  as  loud  as  he 
could  to  let  him  alone  ;  that  he  had  told  them  al- 
ready he  was  mad,  and  consequently  the  law  would 
acquit  him,  though  he  should  kill  them.  Don 
Quixote  also  made  yet  more  noise,  calling  them 
false  and  treacherous  villains,  and  the  lord  of  the 
castle  base  and  unhospitable,  and  a  -discourteous 
knight,  for  suffering  a  knight-errant  to  be  so  abused. 
"  I  would  make  thee  know,"  cried  he,  "  what  a  per- 
fidious wretch  thou  art,  had  I  but  received  the  order 
of  knighthood  ;  but  for  you,  base,  ignominious  rab- 
ble !  fling  on,  do  your  worst ;  come  on,  draw  nearer 
if  you  dare,  and  receive  the  reward  of  your  indis- 
cretion and  insolence."  This  he  spoke  with  so 
much  spirit  and  undauntedness,  that  he  struck  a 
terror  into  all  his  assailants  ;  so  that,  partly  through 
fear,  and  partly  through  the  innkeeper's  persuasions, 
they  gave  over  flinging  stones  at  him ;  and  he,  on 
his  side,  permitted  the  enemy  to  carry  off  their 
wounded,  and  then  returned  to  the  guard  of  his 
arms  as  calm  and  composed  as  before. 

The  innkeeper,  who  began  somewhat  to  disrelish 
these  mad  tricks  of  his  guest,  resolved  to  despatch 
him  forthwith,  and  bestow  on  him  that  unlucky 
knighthood,  to  prevent  farther  mischief;  so  coming 
to  him,  he  excused  himself  for  the  insolence  of 
those  base  scoundrels,  as  being  done  without  his 
privity  or  consent ;  but  their  audaciousness,  he  said, 
was  sufficiently  punished.  He  added,  that  he  had 
already  told  him  there  was  no  chapel  in  his  castle ; 
arid  that  indeed  there  was  no  need  of  one  to  finish 


38  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

» 

the  rest  of  the  ceremony  of  knighthood,  which  con- 
sisted only  in  the  application  of  the  sword  to  the 
neck  and  shoulders,  as  he  had  read  in  the  register 
of  the  ceremonies  of  the  order  ;  and  that  this  might 
be  performed  as  well  in  a  field  as  any  where  else ; 
that  he  had  already  fulfilled  the  obligation  of  watch- 
ing his  arms,  which  required  no  more  than  two 
hours'  watch,  whereas  he  had  been  four  hours  upon 
the  guard.  Don  Quixote,  who  easily  believed  him, 
told  him  he  was  ready  to  obey  him,  and  desired 
him  to  make  an  end  of  the  business  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, for  if  he  were  but  knighted,  and  should  see 
himself  once  attacked,  he  believed  he  should  not 
leave  a  man  alive  in  the  castle,  except  those  whom 
he  should  desire  him  to  spare  for  his  sake. 

Upon  this  the  innkeeper,  lest  the  knight  should 
proceed  to  such  extremities,  fetched  the  book  in 
which  he  used  to  set  down  the  carriers'  accounts 
for  straw  and  barley ;  and  having  brought  with  him 
the  two  kind  females,  already  mentioned,  and  a  boy 
that  held  a  piece  of  lighted  candle  in  his  hand,  he 
ordered  Don  Quixote  to  kneel ;  then  reading  in  his 
manual,  as  if  he  had  been  repeating  some  pious 
oration,  in  the  midst  of  his  devotion  he  lifted  up 
his  hand,  and  gave  him  a  good  blow  on  the  neck, 
and  then  a  gentle  slap  on  the  back  with  the  flat  of 
his  sword,  still  mumbling  some  words  between  his 
teeth  in  the  tone  of  a  prayer.  After  this,  he  order- 
ed one  of 'the  wenches  to  gird  the  sword  about  the 
knight's  waist;  which  she  did  with  much  solemnity, 
and,  I  may  add,  discretion,  considering  how  hard  a 
thing  it  was  to  forbear  laughing  at  every  circum- 
stance of  the  ceremony  ;  it  is  true,  the  thoughts  of 


DON   QUIXOTE.  39 

the  knight's  late  prowess  did  not  a  little  contribute 
to  the  suppression  of  her  mirth.  As  she  girded  on 
his  sword,  "  Heaven,"  cried  the  kind  lady,  "  make 
your  worship  a  lucky  knight,  and  prosper  you 
wherever  you  go."  Don  Quixote  desired  to  know 
her  name,  that  he  might  understand  to  whom  he 
wras  indebted  for  the  favor  she  had  bestowed  upon 
him,  and  also  make  her  partaker  of  the  honor  he 
was  to  acquire  by  the  strength  of  his  arm.  To 
which  the  lady  answered  with  all  humility,  that  her 
name  was  Tolosa,  a  cobbler's  daughter,  that  kept  a 
stall  among  the  little  shops  of  Sanchobinaya  at  To- 
ledo; and  that  whenever  he  pleased  to  command 
her,  she  would  be  his  humble  servant.  Don  Quix- 
ote begged  of  her  to  do  him  the  favor  to  add  here- 
after the  title  of  lady  to  her  name,  and  for  his  sake 
to  be  called  from  that  time  the  Lady  Tolosa;  which 
she  promised  to  do.  Her  companion  having  buckled 
on  his  spurs,  occasioned  a  like  conference  between 
them;  and  when  he  had  asked  her  name,  she  told 
him  she  went  by  the  name  of  Miller,  being  the 
daughter  of  an  honest  miller  of  Antequera.  Our 
new  knight  entreated  her  also  to  style  herself  the 
Lady  Miller,  making  her  new  offers  of  service. 
These  extraordinary  ceremonies  (the  like  never 
seen  before)  being  thus  hurried  over  in  a  kind  of 
post-haste,  Don  Quixote  could  not  rest  till  he  had 
taken  the  field  in  quest  of  adventures ;  therefore, 
having  immediately  saddled  his  Rozinante,  and 
being  mounted,  he  embraced  the  inn  keeper,,  and  re- 
turned him  so  many  thanks  at  so  extravagant  a 
rate,  for  the  obligation  he  had  laid  upon  him  in 
dubbing  him  a  knight,  that  it  is  impossible  to  give 


40  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

a  true  relation  of  them  all :  to  which  the  innkeeper, 
in  haste  to  get  rid  of  him,  returned  as  rhetorical 
though  shorter  answers ;  and  without  stopping  his 
horse  for  the  reckoning,  was  glad  with  all  his  heart 
to  see  him  go. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHAT  BEFELL  THE  KNIGHT  AFTER  HE  HAD  LEFT  THE  INN. 

AURORA  began  to  usher  in  the  morn,  when  Don 
Quixote  sallied  out  of  the  inn,  so  well  pleased,  so 
gay,  and  so  overjoyed  to  find  himself  knighted,  that 
he  infused  the  same  satisfaction  into  his  horse,  who 
seemed  ready  to  burst  his  girths  for  joy.  But  call- 
ing to  mind  the  admonitions  which  the  innkeeper 
had  given  him,  concerning  the  provision  of  neces- 
sary accommodation  in  his  travels,  particularly  mo- 
ney and  clean  shirts,  he  resolved  to  return  home 
to  furnish  himself  with  them,  and  likewise  get  him 
a  squire,  designing  to  entertain  as  such  a  laboring 
man,  his  neighbor,  who  was  poor,  and  had  a  charge 
of  children,  but  yet  very  fit  for  the  office.  With 
this  resolution,  he  took  the  road  which  led  to  his 
own  village  ;  and  Rozinante,  that  seemed  to  know 
his  will  by  instinct,  began  to  carry  him  a  round  trot 
so  briskly,  that  his  heels  seemed  scarcely  to  touch 
the  ground.  The  knight  had  not  travelled  far,  when 
he  fancied  he  heard  an  effeminate  voice  complain- 
ing in  a  thicket  on  his  right  hand.  "  I  thank  Hea- 
ven," said  he,  when  he  heard  the  cries,  "  for  favor- 
ing me  so  soon  with  an  opportunity  to  perform  the 


DON   QUIXOTE.  41 

duty  of  my  profession,  and  reap  the  fruits  of  my 
desire!  for  these  complaints  are  certainly  the  moans 
of  some  distressed  creature  who  wants  my  present 
help."  Then  turning  to  that  side  with  all  the  speed 
which  Rozinante  could  make,  he  no  sooner  came 
into  the  wood,  but  he  found  a  mare  tied  to  an  oak, 
and  to  another  a  young  lad  about  fifteen  years  of 
age,  naked  from  the  waist  upwards.  This  was  he 
who  made  such  a  lamentable  outcry;  and  not  with- 
out cause,  for  a  lusty  country-fellow  was  strapping 
him  soundly  with  a  girdle,  at  every  stripe  putting 
him  in  mind  of  a  proverb,  Keep  your  mouth  shut, 
and  your  eyes  open,  sirrah.  "  Good  master,"  cried 
the  boy,  "  I'll  do  so  no  more ;  as  I  hope  to  be  saved, 
I'll  never  do  so  again !  indeed,  master,  hereafter  I'll 
take  more  care  of  your  goods."  Don  Quixote  see- 
ing this,  cried  in  an  angry  tone,  "  Discourteous 
knight,  'tis  an  unworthy  act  to  strike  a  person  who 
is  not  able  to  defend  himself :  come,  bestride  thy 
steed,  and  take  thy  lance,"  (for  the  farmer  had  some- 
thing that  looked  like  one  leaning  to  the  same  tree 
to  which  his  mare  was  tied,)  "  then  I'll  make  thee 
know  thou  hast  acted  the  part  of  a  coward."  The 
country-fellow,  who  gave  himself  for  lost  at  the 
sight  of  an  apparition  in  armor  brandishing  his 
lance  at  his  face,  answered  him  in  mild  and  sub- 
missive words  :  "  Sir  knight,"  cried  he,  "  this  boy, 
whom  I  am  chastising,  is  my  servant,  employed  by 
me  to  look  after  a  flock  of  sheep,  which  I  have  not 
far  off';  but  he  is  so  heedless,  that  I  lose  some  of 
them  every  day.  Now,  because  I  correct  him  for 
his  carelessness  or  his  knavery,  he  says  I  do  it  out 
of  covetousness,  to  defraud  him  of  his  wages ;  but 


42  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

upon  my  life  and  soul  he  belies  me."  "  What!  the 
lie  in  my  presence,  you  saucy  clown,"  cried  Don 
Quixote ;  "  by  the  sun  that  shines,  I  have  a  good 
mind  to  run  thee  through  the  body  with  my  lance. 
Pay  the  boy  this  instant,  without  any  more  words, 
or,  by  the  power  that  rules  us  all,  I'll  immediately 
dispatch,  and  annihilate  thee ;  come,  unbind  him 
this  moment."  The  countryman  hung  down  his 
head,  and  without  any  further  reply,  unbound  the 
boy ;  who  being  asked  by  Don  Quixote  what  his 
master  owed  him  ?  told  him  it  was  nine  months' 
wages,  at  seven  reals  a  month.  The  knight  having 
cast  it  up,  found  it  came  to  sixty-three  reals  in  all ; 
which  he  ordered  the  farmer  to  pay  the  fellow  im- 
mediately, unless  he  intended  to  lose  his  life  that 
very  moment.  The  poor  countryman,  trembling 
for  fear,  told  him,  that,  as  he  was  on  the  brink  of 
death,  by  the  oath  he  had  sworn,  (by  the  by  he  had 
not  sworn  at  all,)  he  did  not  owe  the  lad  so  much  ; 
for  there  was  to  be  deducted  for  three  pair  of  shoes 
which  he  had  bought  him,  and  a  real  for  his  being 
let  blood  twice  when  he  was  sick.  "  That  may  be," 
replied  Don  Quixote ;  "  but  set  the  price  of  the 
shoes  and  the  bleeding  against  the  stripes  which 
you  have  given  him  without  cause ;  for  if  he  has 
used  the  shoe-leather  which  you  paid  for,  you  have 
in  return  misused  and  impaired  his  skin  sufficiently ; 
and  if  the  surgeon  let  him  blood  when  he  was  sick, 
you  have  drawn  blood  from  him  now  he  is  in  health ; 
so  that  he  owes  you  nothing  on  that  account." 
"  The  worst  is,  sir  knight,"  cried  the  farmer,  "  that 
I  have  no  money  about  me ;  but  let  Andrew  go 
home  with  me,  and  I'll  pay  him  every  piece  out  of 


DON .  QUIXOTE.  43 

| 

hand."  "What!  I  go  home  with  him,"  cried  the 
youngster  ;  "  the  devil  a-bit,  sir !  not  I,  truly,  I  know 
better  things ;  for  he'd  no  sooner  have  me  by  him- 
self, but  he'd  flea  me  alive  like  another  St.  Bartho- 
lomew." "  He  will  never  dare  to  do  it,"  replied  Don 
Quixote  ;  "  I  command  him,  and  that's  sufficient  to 
restrain  him  ;  therefore,  provided  he  will  swear  by 
the  order  of  knighthood  which  has  been  conferred 
upon  him,  that  he  will  duly  observe  this  regulation, 
I  will  freely  let  him  go,  and  then  thou  art  secure  of 
thy  money."  "  Good  sir,  take  heed  what  you  say," 
cried  the  boy ;  for  my  master  is  no  knight,  nor  ever 
was  of  any  order  in  his  life ;  he's  John  Haldudo,  the 
rich  farmer  of  Quintinar."  "  This  signifies  little," 
answered  Don  Quixote,  "  for  there  may  be  knights 
among  the  Haldudo's ;  besides,  the  brave  man 
carves  out  his  fortune,  and  every  man  is  the  son  of 
his  own  works."  "  That's  true,  sir,"  quoth  Andrew; 
"  but  of  what  works  can  this  master  of  mine  be  the 
son,  who  denies  me  my  wages,  which  I  have  earned 
with  the  sweat  of  my  brows  ?  "  "I  do  not  deny  to 
pay  thee  thy  wages,  honest  Andrew,"  cried  the  mas- 
ter ;  "  be  but  so  kind  as  go  along  with  me,  and 
by  all  the  orders  of  knighthood  in  the  world,  I 
swear,  I'll  pay  thee  every  piece,  as  I  said,  nay,  and 
perfumed  to  boot."  *  "  You  may  spare  your  per- 
fume," said  Don  Quixote ;  "  do  but  pay  him  in 
reals,  and  I  am  satisfied ;  but  be  sure  you  perform 

*  To  pay  or  return  a  thing  perfumed,  is  a  Spanish  expression, 
signifying  it  shall  be  done  to  content  or  with  advantage  to  the 
receiver.  It  is  used  here  as  a  satire  on  the  effeminate  custom 
of  wearing  every  thing  perfumed,  insomuch  that  the  very  money 
in  their  pockets  was  scented 


44  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

m 
your  oath ;  for  if  you  fail,  I  myself  swear  by  the 

same  oath,  to  return  and  find  you  out,  and  punish 
you,  though  you  should  hide  yourself  as  close  as  a 
lizard.  And  if  you  will  be  informed  who  it  is  that 
lays  these  injunctions  on  you,  that  you  may  under- 
stand how  highly  it  concerns  you  to  observe  them, 
know,  I  am  the  valorous  Don  Quixote  de  la  Man- 
cha,  the  righter  of  wrongs,  the  revenger  and  redresser 
of  grievances ;  and  so  farewell ;  but  remember  what 
you  have  promised  and  sworn,  as  you  will  answer 
the  contrary  at  your  peril."  This  said,  he  clapped 
spurs  to  Rozinante,  and  quickly  left  the  master  and 
the  man  a  good  way  behind  him. 

The  countryman,  who  followed  him  with  both 
his  eyes,  no  sooner  perceived  that  he  was  passed 
the  woods,  and  quite  out  of  sight,  but  he  went  back 
to  his  boy  Andrew.  "  Come,  child,"  said  he,  "  I  will 
pay  thee  what  I  owe  thee,  as  that  righter  of  wrongs, 
and  redresser  of  grievances  has  ordered  me."  "Ay," 
quoth  Andrew,  "on  my  word,  you  will  do  well  to 
fulfil  the  commands  of  that  good  knight,  who  Hea- 
ven grant  long  to  live  ;  for  he  is  so  brave  a  man, 
and  so  just  a  judge,  that  adad  if  you  don't  pay  me, 
he'll  come  back  and  make  his  words  good."  "  I 
dare  swear  as  much,"  answered  the  master ;  "  and  to 
show  thee  how  much  I  love  thee,  I  am  willing  to 
increase  the  debt,  that  I  may  enlarge  the  payment." 
With  that  he  caught  the  youngster  by  the  arm,  and 
tied  him  again  to  the  tree ;  where  he  handled  him 
so  unmercifully,  that  scarce  any  signs  of  life  were 
left  in  him.  "  Now  call  your  righter  of  wrongs,  Mr. 
Andrew,"  cried  the  farmer,  "  and  you  shall  see  he 
will  never  be  able  to  undo  what  1  have  done ;  though 


DON   QUIXOTE.  45 

I  think  it  is  but  a  part  of  what  I  ought  to  do,  for  I 
have  a  good  mind  to  flea  you  alive,  as  you  said  I 
would,  you  rascal."  However,  he  untied  him  at 
last,  and  gave  him  leave  to  go  and  seek  out  his 
judge,  in  order  to  have  his  decree  put  in  execution. 
Andrew  went  his  ways,  not  very  well  pleased,  you 
may  be  sure,  yet  fully  resolved  to  find  out  the  valor- 
ous Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha,  and  give  him  an 
exact  account  of  the  whole  transaction,  that  he 
might  pay  the  abuse  with  sevenfold  usury;  in 
short,  he  crept  off  sobbing  and  weeping,  while  his 
master  staid  behind  laughing.  And  in  this  manner 
was  this  wrong  redressed  by  the  valorous  Don  Quix- 
ote de  la  Mancha. 

In  the  mean  time,  being  highly  pleased  with  him- 
self and  what  had  happened,  imagining  he  had  given 
a  most  fortunate  and  noble  beginning  to  his  feats 
of  arms,  as  he  went  on  towards  his  village,  "  O 
most  beautiful  of  beauties,"  said  he,  with  a  low 
voice,  "  Dulcinea  del  Toboso !  well  may'st  thou 
deem  thyself  most  happy,  since  it  was  thy  good 
fortune  to  captivate  and  hold  a  willing  slave  to  thy 
pleasure  so  valorous  and  renowned  a  knight  as  is, 
and  ever  shall  be,  Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha ;  who, 
as  all  the  world  knows,  had  the  honor  of  knight- 
hood bestowed  on  him  but  yesterday,  and  this  day 
redressed  the  greatest  wrong  and  grievance  that 
ever  injustice  could  design,  or  cruelty  commit;  this 
day  has  he  wrested  the  scourge  out  of  the  hands  of 
that  tormentor,  who  so  unmercifully  treated  a  ten- 
der infant  without  the  least  occasion  given."  Just 
as  he  had  said  this,  he  found  himself  at  a  place 
where  four  roads  met ;  and  this  made  him  presently 


46  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

bethink  of  those  cross-ways  which  often  use  to  put 
knights-errant  to  a  stand,  to  consult  with  themselves 
which  way  they  should  take ;  and  that  he  might 
follow  their  example,  he  stopped  a  while,  and  after 
he  had  seriously  reflected  on  the  matter,  gave  Rozi- 
nante  the  reins,  subjecting  his  own  will  to  that  of 
his  horse,  who,  pursuing  his  first  intent,  took  the 
way  that  led  to  his  own  stable. 

Don  Quixote  had  not  gone  above  two  miles,  but 
he  discovered  a  company  of  people  riding  towards 
him,  who  proved  to  be  merchants  of  Toledo,  that 
were  going  to  buy  silks  in  Murcia.  They  were  six 
in  all,  every  one  screened  with  an  umbrella,  besides 
four  servants  on  horseback,  and  three  muleteers  on 
foot.  The  knight  no  sooner  perceived  them,  but 
he  imagined  this  to  be  some  new  adventure ;  and 
because  he  was  resolved  to  imitate  as  much  as  pos- 
sible the  passages  which  he  read  in  his  books,  he 
was  pleased  to  represent  this  to  himself  as  such  a 
particular  adventure  as  he  had  a  singular  desire  to 
meet  with ;  and  so,  with  a  dreadful  grace  and  as- 
surance, fixing  himself  in  his  stirrups,  couching  his 
lance,  and  covering  his  breast  with  his  target,  he 
posted  himself  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  expecting 
the  coming  up  of  the  supposed  knights-errant.  As 
soon  as  they  came  within  hearing,  with  a  loud  voice 
and  haughty  tone,  "  Hold,"  cried  he,  "  let  all  man- 
kind stand,  nor  hope  to  pass  on  further,  unless  all 
mankind  acknowledge  and  confess,  that  there  is 
not  in  the  universe  a  more  beautiful  damsel  than 
the  empress  of  La  Mancha,  the  peerless  Dulcinea 
del  Toboso."  At  those  words  the  merchants  made 
a  halt,  to  view  the  unaccountable  figure  of  their 


DON   QUIXOTE.  <.  47 

opponent;  and  easily  conjecturing,  both  by  his  ex- 
pression and  disguise,  that  the  poor  gentleman  had 
lost  his  senses,  they  were  willing  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  that  strange  confession  which  he  would 
force  from  them ;  and  therefore  one  of  the  com- 
pany, who  loved  and  understood  raillery,  having 
discretion  to  manage  it,  undertook  to  talk  to  him. 
"  Signer  cavalier,"  cried  he,  "  we  do  not  know  this 
worthy  lady  you  talk  of;  but  be  pleased  to  let  us 
see  her,  and  then  if  we  find  her  possessed  of  those 
matchless  charms,  of  which  you  assert  her  to  be  the 
mistress,  we  will  freely,  and  without  the  least  com- 
pulsion, own  the  truth  which  you  would  extort  from 
us."  "  Had  I  once  shown  you  that  beauty,"  replied 
Don  Quixote,  "what  wonder  would  it  be  to  ac- 
knowledge so  notorious  a  truth  ?  the  importance  of 
the  thing  lies  in  obliging  you  to  believe  it,  confess 
it,  affirm  it,  swear  it,  and  maintain  it,  without  see- 
ing her ;  and  therefore  make  this  acknowledgment 
this  very  moment,  or  know,  that  it  is  with  me  you 
must  join  in  battle,  ye  proud  and  unreasonable 
mortals.  Come  one  by  one,  as  the  Jaws  of  chivalry 
require,  or  all  at  once,  according  to  the  dishonorable 
practice  of  men  of  your  stamp ;  here  I  expect  you 
all  my  single  self,  and  will  stand  the  encounter,  con- 
fiding in  the  justice  of  my  cause."  "  Sir  knight," 
replied  the  merchant,  "  I  beseech  you  in  the  name 
of  all  the  princes  here  present,  that  for  the  dis- 
charge of  our  consciences,  which  will  not  permit  us 
to  affirm  a  thing  we  never  heard  or  saw,  and  which, 
besides,  tends  so  much  to  the  dishonor  of  the  em- 
presses and  queens  of  Alcaria  and  Estramadura, 
your  worship  will  vouchsafe  to  let  us  see  some  por- 


48  T1IE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF    . 

i> 

traitnre  of  that  lady,  though  it  were  no  bigger  than 
a  grain  of  wheat ;  for  by  a  small  sample  we  may 
judge  of  the  whole  piece,  and  by  that  means  rest 
secure  and  satisfied,  and  you  contented  and  ap- 
peased. Nay,  I  verily  believe,  that  we  all  find  our- 
selves already  so  inclinable  to  comply  with  you, 
that  though  her  picture  should  represent  her  to  be 
blind  of  one  eye,  and  distilling  vermilion  and  brim- 
stone at  the  other,  yet  to  oblige  you,  we  shall  be 
ready  to  say  in  her  favor  whatever  your  worship 
desires."  "  Distil,  ye  infamous  scoundrels,"  replied 
Don  Quixote  in  a  burning  rage,  "distil,  say  you? 
know,  that  nothing  distils  from  her  but  amber  and 
civet:  neither  is  she  defective  in  her  make  or  shape, 
but  more  straight  than  a  Guadaramian  spindle. 
But  you  shall  all  severely  pay  for  the  horrid  blas- 
phemy which  thou  hast  uttered  against  the  tran- 
scendent beauty  of  my  incomparable  lady."  Say- 
ing this,  with  his  lance  couched,  he  ran  so  furiously 
at  the  merchant  who  thus  provoked  him,  that,  had 
not  good  fortune  so  ordered  it,  that  Rozinante 
should  stumble  and  fall  in  the  midst  of  his  career, 
the  audacious  trifler  had  paid  dear  for  his  raillery ; 
but  as  Rozinante  fell,  he  threw  down  his  master, 
who  rolled  and  tumbled  a  good  way  on  the  groundj 
without  being  able  to  get  upon  his  legs,  though  he 
used  all  his  skill  and  strength  to  effect  it,  so  encum- 
bered he  was  with  his  lance,  target,  spurs,  helmet, 
and  the  weight  of  his  rusty  armor.  However,  in 
this  helpless  condition,  he  played  the  hero  with  his 
tongue :  "  Stay,"  cried  he,  "  cowards,  rascals,  do  not 
fly !  it  is  not  through  my  fault  that  I  lie  here,  but 
through  that  of  my  horse,  ye  poltroons ! " 


DON   QUIXOTE.  49 

One  of  the  grooms,  who  was  none  of  the  best- 
natured  creatures,  hearing  the  overthrown  knight 
thus  insolently  treat  his  master,  could  not  bear  it 
without  returning  him  an  answer  on  his  ribs ;  and 
therefore  coming  up  to  him  as  he  lay  wallowing,  he 
snatched  his  lance,  and  having  broke  it  to  pieces, 
he  so  belabored  Don  Quixote's  sides  with  one  of 
them,  that,  in  spite  of  his  arms,  he  thrashed  him 
like  a  wheat  sheaf.  His  master  indeed  called  to 
him  not  to  lay  on  him  so  vigorously,  and  to  let  him 
alone ;  but  the  fellow,  whose  hand  was  in,  would 
not  give  over  rib-roasting  the  knight,  till  he  had 
tired  out  his  passion  and  himself;  and  therefore 
running  to  the  other  pieces  of  the  broken  lance,  he 
fell  to  it  again  without  ceasing,  till  he  had  splinter- 
ed them  all  on  the  knight's  iron  inclosure.  He,  on 
his  side,  notwithstanding  all  this  storm  of  bastina- 
does, lay  all  the  while  bellowing,  threatening  hea- 
ven and  earth,  and  those  villanous  ruffians,  as  he 
took  them  to  be.  At  last  the  mule-driver  was  tired, 
and  the  merchants  pursued  their  journey,  suffi- 
ciently furnished  with  matter  of  discourse  at  the 
poor  knight's  expense.  When  he  found  himself 
alone,  he  tried  once  more  to  get  on  his  feet ;  but  if 
he  could  not  do  it  when  he  had  the  use  of  his  limbs, 
how  should  he  do  it  now,  bruised  and  battered  as 
he  was  ?  But  yet  for  all  this,  he  esteemed  himself 
a  happy  man,  being  still  persuaded,  that  his  misfor- 
tune was  one  of  those  accidents  common  in  knight- 
errantry,  and  such  a  one  as  he  could  wholly  attribute 
to  the  falling  of  his  horse ;  nor  could  he  possibly 
get  up,  so  sore  and  mortified  as  his  body  was  all 
over. 

VOL.  I.  4 


50  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

CHAPTER   V. 

A   FURTHER   ACCOUNT  OF   OUR  KNIGHT'S  MISFORTUNES. 

DON  QUIXOTE,  perceiving  that  he  was  not  able  to 
stir,  resolved  to  have  recourse  to  his  usual  remedy, 
which  was  to  bethink  himself  what  passage  in  his 
books  might  afford  him  some  comfort;  and  pre- 
sently his  folly  brought  to  his  remembrance  the 
story  of  Baldwin  and  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  when 
Chariot  left  the  former  wounded  on  the  mountain ; 
a  story  learned  and  known  by  little  children,  not 
unknown  to  young  men  and  women,  celebrated,  and 
even  believed  by  the  old,  and  yet  not  a  jot  more 
authentic  than  the  miracles  of  Mahomet.  This 
seemed  to  him  as  if  made  on  purpose  for  his  present 
circumstances,  and  therefore  he  fell  a  rolling  and 
tumbling  up  and  down,  expressing  the  greatest  pain 
and  resentment,  and  breathing  out,  with  a  languish- 
ing voice,  the  same  complaints  which  the  wounded 
Knight  of  the  Wood  is  said  to  have  made : 

"  Alas  !  where  are  you,  lady  dear, 
"  That  for  my  woe  you  do  not  moan  ? 

"  You  little  know  what  ails  me  here, 
"  Or  are  to  me  disloyal  grown ! " 

Thus  he  went  on  with  the  lamentations  in  that 
romance,  till  he  came  to  these  verses : 

"  O  thou,  my  uncle  and  my  prince, 
"  Marquis  of  Mantua,  noble  lord ! " — 

When  kind  fortune  so  ordered  it,  that  a   plough- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  51 

man,  who  lived  in  the  same  village,  and  near  his 
house,  happened  to  pass  by,  as  he  came  from  the 
mill  with  a  sack  of  wheat.  The  fellow  seeing  a 
man  lie  at  his  full  length  on  the  ground,  asked  him 
who  he  was,  and  why  he  made  such  a  sad  com- 
plaint. Don  Quixote,  whose  distempered  brain  pre- 
sently represented  to  him  the  countryman  for  the 
Marquis  of  Mantua,  his  imaginary  uncle,  made  him 
no  answer,  but  went  on  with  the  romance,  giving 
him  an  account  of  his  misfortunes,  and  of  the  loves 
of  his  wife  and  the  emperor's  son,  just  as  the  book 
relates  them.  The  fellow  stared,  much  amazed  to 
hear  a  man  talk  such  unaccountable  stuff;  and  tak- 
ing off  the  vizor  of  his  helmet,  broken  all  to  pieces 
with  blows  bestowed  upon  it  by  the  mule-driver,  he 
wiped  off  the  dust  that  covered  his  face,  and  pre- 
sently knew  the  gentleman.  "Master  Quixada!" 
cried  he,  (for  so  he  was  properly  called  when  he  had 
the  right  use  of  his  senses,  and  had  not  yet  from  a 
sober  gentleman  transformed  himself  into  a  wander- 
ing knight,)  "  how  came  you  in  this  condition  ?  " 
But  the  other  continued  his  romance,  and  made  no 
answers  to  all  the  questions  the  countryman  put  to 
him,  but  what  followed  in  course  in  the  book  ;  which 
the  good  man  perceiving,  he  took  off  the  battered 
adventurer's  armor,  as  well  as  he  could,  and  fell  a 
searching  for  his  wounds ;  but  finding  no  signs  of 
blood,  or  any  other  hurt,  he  endeavored  to  set  him 
upon  his  legs;  and  at  last  with  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  he  heaved  him  upon  his  own  ass,  as  being 
the  more  easy  and  gentle  carriage ;  he  also  got  all 
the  knight's  arms  together,  not  leaving  behind  so 
much  as  the  splinters  of  his  lance  ;  and  having  tied 


52  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

them  up,  and  laid  them  on  Rozinante,  which  he 
took  by  the  bridle,  and  his  ass  by  the  halter,  he  led 
them  all  towards  the  village,  and  trudged  a-foot 
himself,  very  pensive,  while  he  reflected  on  the  ex- 
travagances which  he  heard  Don  Quixote  utter. 
Nor  was  Don  Quixote  himself  less  melancholy  ;  for 
he  felt  himself  so  bruised  and  battered,  that  he 
could  hardly  sit  on  the  ass  ;  and  now  and  then  he 
breathed  such  grievous  sighs,  as  seemed  to  pierce 
the  very  skies,  which  moved  his  compassionate 
neighbor  once  more  to  entreat  him  to  declare  to  him 
the  cause  of  his  grief;  but  one  would  have  ima- 
gined the  devil  prompted  him  with  stories,  that  had 
some  resemblance  of  his  circumstances  ;  for  in  that 
instant,  wholly  forgetting  Baldwin,  he  bethought 
himself  of  the  Moor  Abindaraez,  whom  Rodrigo 
de  Narvaez,  Alcayde  of  Antequera,  took  and  car- 
ried prisoner  to  his  castle  ;  so  that  when  the  hus- 
bandman asked  him  how  he  did,  and  what  ailed 
him,  he  answered  word  for  word  as  the  prisoner 
Abindaraez  replied  to  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez,  in  the 
Diana  of  George  di  Monte  Mayor,  where  that  ad- 
venture is  related ;  applying  it  so  properly  to  his 
purpose,  that  the  countryman  wished  himself  at  the 
devil  rather  than  within  the  hearing  of  such  strange 
nonsense ;  and  being  now  fully  convinced  that  his 
neighbor's  brains  were  turned,  he  made  all  the  haste 
he  could  to  the  village,  to  be  rid  of  his  troublesome 
impertinences.  Don  Quixote,  in  the  mean  time, 
thus  went  on :  "  You  must  know,  Don  Rodrigo  de 
Narvaez,  that  this  beautiful  Xerifa,  of  whom  I  gave 
you  an  account,  is  at  present  the  most  lovely  Dul- 
cinea  del  Toboso,  for  whose  sake  I  have  done,  still 


DON   QUIXOTE.  53 

do,  and  will  achieve  the  most  famous  deeds  of  chi- 
valry that  ever  were,  are,  or  ever  shall  be  seen  in 
the  universe."  "  Good  sir,"  replied  the  husband- 
man, "  as  I  am  a  sinner,  I  am  not  Don  Rodrigo  de 
Narvaez,  nor  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  but  Pedro 
Alonzo  by  name,  your  worship's  neighbor;  nor  are 
you  Baldwin,  nor  Abindaraez,  but  only  that  worthy 
gentleman  Senior  Quixada."  "  I  know  very  well 
who  I  am,"  answered  Don  Quixote ;  "  and  what's 
more,  I  know,  that  I  may  not  only  be  the  persons  I 
have  named,  but  also  the  twelve  peers  of  France, 
nay,  and  the  nine  worthies  all  in  one ;  since  my 
achievements  will  outrival  not  only  the  famous  ex- 
ploits which  made  any  of  them  singly  illustrious, 
but  all  their  mighty  deeds  accumulated  together." 
"  Thus  discoursing,  they  at  last  got  near  their  vil- 
lage about  sunset;  but  the  countryman  staid  at 
some  distance  till  it  was  dark,  that  the  distressed 
gentleman  might  not  be  seen  so  scurvily  mounted ; 
and  then  he  led  him  home  to  his  own  house,  which 
he  found  in  great  confusion.  The  curate  and  the 
barber  of  the  village,  both  of  them  Don  Quixote's 
intimate  acquaintance,  happened  to  be  there  at  that 
juncture,  as  also  the  house-keeper,  who  was  arguing 
with  them :  "  What  do  you  think,  pray,  good  doc- 
tor Perez,"  said  she,  (for  this  was  the  curate's  name,) 
"what  do  you  think  of  my  master's  mischance? 
neither  he,  nor  his  horse,  nor  his  target,  lance,  nor 
armor,  have  been  seen  these  six  days.  What  shall 
I  do,  wretch  that  I  am  !  I  dare  lay  my  life,  and  it 
is  as  sure  as  I  am  a  living  creature,  that  those  curs- 
ed books  of  errantry,  which  he  used  to  be  always 
poring  upon,  have  set  him  besides  his  senses ;  for 


54  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

now  I  remember,  I  have  heard  him  often  mutter  to 
himself,  that  he  had  a  mind  to  turn  knight-errant, 
and  jaunt  up  and  down  the  world  to  find  out  ad- 
ventures. May  Satan  and  Barabbas  e'en  take  all 
such  books  that  have  thus  cracked  the  best  head- 
piece in  all  La  Mancha! "  His  niece  said  as  much, 
addressing  herself  to  the  barber  ;  "  You  must  know, 
Mr.  Nicholas,"  quoth  she,  (for  that  was  his  name,) 
"  that  many  times  my  uncle  would  read  you  those 
unconscionable  books  of  disventures  for  eight-and- 
forty  hours  together;  then  away  he  would  throw 
you  his  book,  and,  drawing  his  sword,  he  would  fall 
a  fencing  against  the  walls ;  and  when  he  had  tired 
himself  with  cutting  and  slashing,  he  would  cry  he 
had  killed  four  giants  as  big  as  any  steeples ;  and 
the  sweat  which  he  put  himself  into,  he  would  say 
was  the  blood  of  the  wounds  he  had  received  in 
the  fight ;  then  would  he  swallow  you  a  huge  jug 
of  cold  water,  and  presently  he  would  be  as  quiet 
and  as  well  as  ever  he  was  in  his  life ;  and  he  said, 
that  this  same  water  was  a  sort  of  precious  drink 
brought  him  by  the  sage  Esquife,  a  great  magician, 
and  his  special  friend.  Now,  it  is  I  who  am  the 
cause  of  all  this  mischief,  for  not  giving  you  timely 
notice  of  my  uncle's  raving,  that  you  might  have 
put  a  stop  to  it,  ere  it  was  too  late,  and  have  burnt 
all  these  excommunicated  books ;  for  there  are  I  do 
not  know  how  many  of  them  that  deserve  as  much 
to  be  burned,  as  those  of  the  rankest  heretics."  "  I 
arn  of  your  mind,"  said  the  curate  ;  "  and  verily 
to-morrow  shall  not  pass  over  before  I  have  fairly 
brought  them  to  a  trial,  and  condemned  them  to 
the  flames,  that  they  may  not  minister  occasion  to 


DON   QUIXOTE.  55 

such  as  would  read  them,  to  be  perverted  after  the 
example  of  my  good  friend." 

The  countryman,  who,  with  Don  Quixote,  stood 
without,  listening  to  all  this  discourse,  now  per- 
fectly understood  by  this  the  cause  of  his  neighbor's 
disorder ;  and  therefore,  without  any  more  ado,  he 
called  out  aloud,  "  Here !  house ;  open  the  gates 
there,  for  the  Lord  Baldwin,  and  the  Lord  Marquis 
of  Mantua,  who  is  coming  sadly  wounded  ;  and  for 
the  Moorish  Lord  Abindaraez,  whom  the  valorous 
Don  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez,  Alcayde  of  Antequera, 
brings  prisoner."  At  which  words  they  all  got  out 
of  doors;  and  the  one  finding  it  to  be  her  uncle, 
and  the  other  to  be  her  master,  and  the  rest  their 
friend,  who  had  not  yet  alighted  from  the  ass,  be- 
cause indeed  he  was  not  able,  they  all  ran  to  em- 
brace him  ;  to  whom  Don  Quixote :  "  Forbear," 
said  he,  u  for  I  am  sorely  hurt,  by  reason  that  my 
horse  failed  me;  carry  me  to  bed,  and  if  it  be  possi- 
ble let  the  enchantress  Urganda  be  sent  for  to  cure 
my  wounds."  "  Now,  in  the  name  of  mischief," 
quoth  the  housekeeper,  "  see  whether  I  did  not 
guess  .right,  on  which  foot  my  master  halted  ? 
Come,  get  you  to  bed,  I  beseech  you  ;  and,  my  life 
for  yours,  we  will  take  care  to  cure  you  without 
sending  for  that  same  Urganda.  A  hearty  curse, 
and  the  curse  of  curses,  I  say  it  again  and  again  a 
hundred  times,  light  upon  those  books  of  chivalry 
that  have  put  you  in  this  pickle."  Thereupon  they 
carried  him  to  his  bed,  and  searched  for  his  wounds, 
but  could  find  none  ;  and  then  he  told  them  he  was 
only  bruised,  having  had  a  dreadful  fall  from  his 
horse  Rozinante,  while  he  was  fighting  ten  giants, 


56          '  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

the  most  outrageous  and  audacious  that  ever  could 
be  found  upon  the  face  of  the  earth.  "  How," 
cried  the  curate,  "  have  we  giants  too  in  the  dance  ? 
nay  then,  by  the  holy  sign  of  the  cross,  I  will  burn 
them  all  by  to-morrow  night."  Then  did  they  ask 
the  Don  a  thousand  questions,  but  to  every  one  he 
made  no  other  answer,  but  that  they  should  give 
him  something  to  eat,  and  then  leave  him  to  his  re- 
pose, a  thing  which  was  to  him  of  the  greatest  im- 
portance. They  complied  with  his  desires;  and 
then  the  curate  informed  himself  at  large  in  what 
condition  the  countryman  had  found  him;  and  hav- 
ing had  a  full  account  of  every  particular,  as  also 
of  the  knight's  extravagant  talk,  both  when  the  fel- 
low found  him,  and  as  he  brought  him  home,  this 
increased  the  curate's  desire  of  effecting  what  he 
had  resolved  to  do  the  next  morning;  at  which  time 
he  called  upon  his  friend,  Mr.  Nicholas  the  barber, 
and  went  with  him  to  Don  Quixote's  house. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

OF  THE  PLEASANT  AND  CURIOUS  SCRUTINY  WHICH  THE 
CURATE  AND  THE  BARBER  MADE  OF  THE  LIBRARY  OF 
OUR  INGENIOUS  GENTLEMAN. 

THE  knight  was  yet  asleep,  when  the  curate 
came  attended  by  the  barber,  and  desired  his  niece 
to  let  him  have  the  key  of  the  room  where  her  uncle 
kept  his  books,  the  author  of  his  woes ;  she  readily 
consented ;  and  so  in  they  went,  and  the  house- 
keeper with  them.  There  they  found  above  an 


DON  QUIXOTE.  57 

hundred  large  volumes  neatly  bound,  and  a  good 
number  of  small  ones ;  as  soon  as  the  house- 
keeper had  spied  them  out,  she  ran  out  of  the  study, 
and  returned  immediately  with  a  holy-water  pot 
and  a  sprinkler;  "Here,  doctor,"  cried  she,  "  pray 
sprinkle  every  creek  and  corner  in  the  room,  lest 
there  should  lurk  in  it  some  one  of  the  many  sor- 
cerers these  books  swarm  with,  who  might  chance 
to  bewitch  us,  for  the  ill-will  we  bear  them,  in  going 
about  to  send  them  out  of  the  world."  The  curate 
could  not  forbear  smiling  at  the  good  woman's  sim- 
plicity; and  desired  the  barber  to  reach  him  the 
books  one  by  one,  that  he  might  peruse  the  title- 
pages,  for  perhaps  he  might  find  some  among  them 
that  might  not  deserve  to  be  committed  to  the 
flames.  "  Oh,  by  no  means,"  cried  the  niece,  "  spare 
none  of  them ;  they  all  help,  some  how  or  other,  to 
crack  my  uncle's  brain.  I  fancy  we  had  best  throw 
them  all  out  at  the  window  in  the  yard,  and  lay 
them  together  in  a  heap,  and  then  set  them  o'  fire, 
or  else  carry  them  into  the  back-yard,  and  there 
make  a  pile  of  them,  and  burn  them,  and  so  the 
smoke  will  offend  nobody."  The  housekeeper 
joined  with  her,  so  e'agerly  bent  were  both  upon  the 
destruction  of  those  poor  innocents ;  but  the  curate 
would  not  condescend  to  those  irregular  proceed- 
ings, and  resolved  first  to  read  at  least  the  title-page 
of  every  book. 

The  first  that  Mr.  Nicholas  put  into  his  hands, 
was  Amadis  de  Gaul,  in  four  volumes.*     "  There 

*  Hence  it  appears,  that  only  the  first  four  books  of  Amadis 
were  thought  genuine  by  Cervantes.  The  subsequent  volumes, 
to  the  number  of  twenty-one,  are  condemned  hereby  as  spurious. 


58  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

seems  to  be  some  mystery  in  this  book's  being  the 
first  taken  down,"  cried  the  curate,  as  soon  as  he 
had  looked  upon  it,  "for  I  have  heard  it  is  the  first 
book  of  knight-errantry  that  ever  was  printed  in 
Spain,  and  the  model  of  all  the  rest ;  and  therefore 
I  am  of  opinion,  that,  as  the  first  teacher  and  author 
of  so  pernicious  a  sect,  it  ought  to  be  condemned 
to  the  fire  without  mercy."  "  I  beg  a  reprieve  for 
him,"  cried  the  barber,  "  for  I  have  been  told  'tis  the 
best  book  that  has  been  written  in  that  kind;  and 
therefore,  as  the  only  good  thing  of  that  sort,  it  may 
deserve  a  pardon."  "  Well,  then,"  replied  the  cu- 
rate, "  for  this  time  let  him  have  it.  Let's  see  that 
other,  which  lies  next  to  him."  "  These,"  said  the 
barber,  "  are  the  exploits  of  Esplandian,  the  lawful 
begotten  son  of  Amadis  de  Gaul."  "  Verily,"  said 
the  curate,  "  the  father's  goodness  shall  not  excuse 
the  want  of  it  in  the  son.  Here,  good  mistress 
housekeeper,  open  that  window,  and  throw  it  into 
the  yard,  and  let  it  serve  as  a  foundation  to  that 
pile  we  are  to  set  a  blazing  presently."  She  was 
not  slack  in  her  obedience ;  and  thus  poor  Don 
Esplandian  was  sent  headlong  into  the  yard,  there 
patiently  to  wait  the  time  of  his  fiery  trial.  "  To 
the  next,"  cried  the  curate.  "  This,"  said  the  bar- 
ber, "  is  Amadis  of  Greece ;  and  I'm  of  opinion 
that  all  those  that  stand  on  this  side  are  of  the  same 
family."  "  Then  let  them  all  be  sent  packing  into 
the  yard,"  replied  the  curate ;  for  rather  than  lose 
the  pleasure  of  burning  Queen  Pintiquiniestra,  and 
the  shepherd  Darinel  with  his  eclogues,  and  the  con- 
founded unintelligible  discourses  of  the  author,  I 
think  I  should  burn  my  own  father  along  with  them, 


DON   QUIXOTE.  59 

if  I  met  him  in  the  disguise  of  a  knight-errant." 
"  I  am  of  your  mind,"  cried  the  barber.  "  And  I 
too,"  said  the  niece.  "  Nay,  then,"  quoth  the  old 
female,  "  let  them  come,  and  down  with  them  all 
into  the  yard."  They  were  delivered  to  her  accord- 
ingly, and  many  they  were  ;  so  that  to  save  herself 
the  labor  of  carrying  them  down  stairs,  she  fairly 
sent  them  flying  out  at  the  window. 

"  What  overgrown  piece  of  lumber  have  we 
here  ?  "  cried  the  curate.  "  Olivante  de  Laura,"  re- 
turned the  barber.  "  The  same  author  wrote  the 
Garden  of  Flowers ;  and,  to  deal  ingenuou'sly  with 
you,  I  cannot  tell  which  of  the  two  books  has  most 
truth  in  it,  or,  to  speak  more  properly,  less  lies  ;  but 
this  I  know  for  certain,  that  he  shall  march  into  the 
back-yard,  like  a  nonsensical  arrogant  blockhead  as 
he  is." 

"  The  next,"  cried  the  barber,  "  is  Florismart  of 
Hyrcania."  "  How !  my  Lord  Florismart,  is  he 
here  ?  "  replied  the  curate ;  "  nay  then  truly,  he  shall 
e'en  follow  the  rest  to  the  yard,  in  spite  of  his  won- 
derful birth  and  incredible  adventures;  for  his 
rough,  dull,  and  insipid  style  deserves  no  better 
Usage.  Come,  toss  him  into  the  yard,  and  this  other 
too,  good  mistress."  "  With  all  my  heart,"  quoth 
the  governess ;  and  straight  she  was  as  good  as  her 
word. 

"  Here's  the  noble  Don  Platir,"  cried  the  barber. 
"  'Tis  an  old  book,"  replied  the  curate,  "  and  I  can 
think  of  nothing  in  him  that  deserves  a  grain  of 
pity ;  away  with  him,  without  any  more  words ; " 
and  down  he  went  accordingly. 

Another  book  was  opened,  and  it  proved  to  be 


60  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

the  Knight  of  the  Cross.  «  The  holy  title,"  cried 
the  curate,  "  might  in  some  measure  atone  for  the 
badness  of  the  book ;  but  then,  as  the  saying  is, 
The  devil  Lurks  behind  the  cross!  To  the  flames 
with  him." 

Then  the  barber  taking  down  another  book,  cried, 
"  Here's  the  Mirror  of  Knighthood. "  "  Oh !  I  have 
the  honor  to  know  him,"  replied  the  curate.  "  There 
you  will  find  the  Lord  Rinaldo  of  Montalban,  with 
his  friends  and  companions,  all  of  them  greater 
thieves  than  Cacus,  together  with  the  Twelve  Peers 
of  France,  and  that  faithful  historian  Turpin. 
Truly,  I  must  needs  say,  I  am  only  for  condemning 
them  to  perpetual  banishment,  at  least  because 
their  story  contains  something  of  the  famous  Boy- 
ardo's  invention,  out  of  which  the  Christian  poet 
Ariosto  also  spun  his  web ;  yet,  if  I  happened  to 
meet  with  him  in  this  bad  company,  and  speaking 
in  any  other  language  than  his  own,  I'll  show  him 
no  manner  of  favor;  but  if  he  talks  in  his  own 
native  tongue,  I'll  treat  him  with  all  the  respect 
imaginable."  "  I  have  him  at  home  in  Italian," 
said  the  barber,  "  but  I  cannot  understand  him." 
"  Neither  is  it  any  great  matter,  whether  you  do  or 
not,"  replied  the  curate  ;  and  I  could  willingly  have 
excused  the  good  captain  who  translated  it  that 
trouble  of  attempting  to  make  him  speak  Spanish, 
for  he  has  deprived  him  of  a  great  deal  of  his  pri- 
mitive graces;  a  misfortune  incident  to  all  those 
who  presume  to  translate  verses,  since  their  utmost 
wit  and  industry  can  never  enable  them  to  preserve 
the  native  beauties  and  genius  that  shine  in  the 
original.  For  this  reason  I  am  for  having  not  only 


DON    QUIXOTE.  61 

this  book,  but  likewise  all  those  which  we  shall  find 
here,  treating  of  French  affairs,*  laid  up  and  depo- 
sited in  some  dry  vault,  till  we  have  maturely  de- 
termined what  ought  to  be  done  with  them ;  yet 
give  me  leave  to  except  one  Barnardo  del  Carpio, 
that  must  be  somewhere  here  among  the  rest,  and 
another  called  Roncesvalles ;  for  whenever  I  meet 
with  them,  I  will  certainly  deliver  them  up  into  the 
hands  of  the  housekeeper,  who  shall  toss  them  into 
the  fire."  The  barber  gave  his  approbation  to 
every  particular,  well,  knowing  that  the  curate  was 
so  good  a  Christian,  and  so  great  a  lover  of  truth, 
that  he  would  not  have  uttered  a  falsity  for  all  the 
world. 

Then  opening  another  volume,  he  found  it  to  be 
Palmerin  de  Oliva,  and  the  next  to  that  Palmerin 
of  England.  "  Ha  !  have  I  found  you  !  "  cried  the 
curate.  "  Here,  take  that  Oliva,  let  him  be  torn  to 
pieces,  then  burnt,  and  his  ashes  scattered  in  the 
air;  but  let  Palmerin  of  England  be  preserved  as  a 
singular  relic  of  antiquity  ;  and  let  such  a  costly 
box  be  made  for  him,  as  Alexander  found  among 
the  spoils  of  Darius,  which  he  ^devoted  to  inclose 
Horner's  works  :  for  I  must  tell  you,  neighbor,  that 
book  deserves  particular  respect  for  two  things  ; 
first,  for  its  own  excellences  ;  and,  secondly,  for  the 
sake  of  its  author,  who  is  said  to  have  been  a 
learned  king  of  Portugal ;  then  all  the  adventures 
of  the  castle  of  Miraguarda  are  well  and  artfully 
managed,  the  dialogue  very  courtly  and  clear,  and 
the  decorum  strictly  observed  in  equal  character, 

*  Meaning  those  romances,  the  scene  of  which  lay  in  France, 
under  Charlemagne  and  the  Palatins. 


62  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

with  equal  propriety  and  judgment.  Therefore, 
Master  Nicholas,"  continued  he,  "  with  submission 
to  your  better  advice,  this  and  Amadis  de  Gaul 
shall  be  exempted  from  the  fire  ;  and  let  all  the  rest 
be  condemned  without  any  further  inquiry  or  exami- 
nation." "  By  no  means,  I  beseech  you,"  returned 
the  barber,  "  for  this  which  I  have  in  my  hands  is 
the  famous  Don  Bellianis."  "  Truly,"  cried  the 
curate,  "  he,  with  his  second,  third,  and  fourth  parts, 
had  need  of  a  dose  of  rhubarb  to  purge  his  exces- 
sive choler;  besides,  his  Castle  of  Fame  should  be 
demolished,  and  a  heap  of  other  rubbish  removed; 
in  order  to  which  I  give  rny  vote  to  grant  them  the 
benefit  of  a  reprieve  ;  and  as  they  show  signs  of 
amendment,  so  shall  mercy  or  justice,  be  used  to- 
wards them  ;  in  the  mean  time,  neighbor,  take  them 
into  custody,  and  keep  them  safe  at  home  ;  but  let 
none  be  permitted  to  converse  with  them."  "  Con- 
tent," cried  the  barber;  and  to  save  himself  the 
labor  of  looking  on  any  more  books  of  that  kind,  he 
bid  the  housekeeper  take  all  the  great  volumes,  and 
throw  them  into  the  yard.  This  was  not  spoken  to 
one  stupid  or  deaf,  but  to  one  who  had  a  greater 
mind  to  be  burning  them,  than  weaving  the  finest 
and  largest  web  ;  so  that  laying  hold  of  no  less  thazi 
eight  volumes  at  once,  she  presently  made  them 
leap  towards  the  place  of  execution  ;  but  as  she 
went  too  eagerly  to  work,  taking  more  books  than 
she  could  conveniently  carry,  she  happened  to  drop 
one  at  the  barber's  feet,  which  he  took  up  out  of 
curiosity  to  see  what  it  was,  and  found  it  to  be  the 
History  of  the  famous  Knight  Tirante  the  White. 
M  Good  lack-a-day,"  cried  the  curate,  "  is  Tirante 


DON   QUIXOTE.  63 

the  "White  here?  oh!  pray  good  neighbor  give  it 
me  by  all  means,  for  I  promise  myself  to  find  in  it 
a  treasure  of  delight,  and  a  mine  of  recreation. 
There  we  have  that  valorous  knight  Don  Kyrie- 
Eleison  of  Montalban,  with  his  brother  Thomas  of 
Montalban,  and  the  knight  Fonseca ;  the  combat 
between  the  valorous  Detriante  and  Alano ;  the 
dainty  and  witty  conceits  of  the  damsel  Pla/erde- 
mivida,  with  the  loves  and  guiles  of  the  widow 
Reposada  ;  together  with  the  lady  empress,  that 
was  in  love  with  Hippolito  her  gentleman-usher. 
I  vow  and  protest  to  you,  neighbor,"  continued  he, 
"  that  in  its  way  there  is  not  a  better  book  in  the 
world;  why  here  you  have  knights  that  eat  and 
drink,  sleep,  and  die  natural  deaths  in  their  beds, 
nay,  and  make  their  last  wills  and  testaments ;  with 
a  world  of  other  things,  of  which  all  the  rest  of 
these  sort  of  books  don't  say  one  syllable.  Yet 
after  all,  I  must  tell  you,  that  for  wilfully  taking 
the  pains  to  write  so  many  foolish  things,  the  wor- 
thy author  fairly  deserves  to  be  sent  to  the  galleys 
for  all  the  days  of  his  life.  Take  it  home  with  you 
and  read  it,  and  then  tell  me  whether  I  have  told 
you  the  truth  or  no."  "  I  believe  you,"  replied  the 
barber ;  "  but  what  shall  we  do  with  all  these 
smaller  books  that  are  left?"  "  Certainly,"  replied 
the  curate,  "these  cannot  be  books  of  knight-er- 
rantry, they  are  too  small ;  you'll  find  they  are  only 
poets."  And  so  opening  one,  it  happened  to  be 
the  Diana  of  Montemayor;  which  made  him  say, 
(believing  all  the  rest  to  be  of  that  stamp,)  "  These 
do  not  deserve  to  be  punished  like  the  others,  for 
they  neither  have  done,  nor  can  do,  that  mischief 


64  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

which  those  stories  of  chivalry  have  done,  being 
generally  ingenious  books,  that  can  do  nobody  any 
prejudice."  "  Oh!  good  sir,"  cried  the  niece,  "burn 
them  with  the  rest,  I  beseech  you  ;  for  should  my 
uncle  get  cured  of  his  knight-errant  frenzy,  and 
betake  himself  to  the  reading  of  these  books,  we 
should  have  him  turn  shepherd,  and  so  wander 
through  the  woods  and  fields ;  nay,  and  what 
would  be  worse  yet,  turn  poet,  which  they  say  is  a 
catching  and  an  incurable  disease."  "  The  gentle- 
woman is  in  the  right,"  said  the  curate,  "  and  it 
will  not  be  amiss  to  remove  that  stumbling-block 
out  of  our  friend's  way ;  and  since  we  began  with 
the  Diana  of  Montemayor,  I  am  of  opinion  we 
ought  not  to  burn  it,  but  only  take  out  that  part  of 
it  which  treats  of  the  magician  Felicia,  and  the  en- 
chanted water,  as  also  all  the  longer  poems ;  and 
let  the  work  escape  with  its  prose,  and  the  honor  of 
being  the  first  of  that  kind."  "  Here's  another 
Diana,"  quoth  the  barber,  "  Ihe  second  of  that  name, 
by  Salmantino,  (of  Salamanca,)  nay,  and  a  third 
too,  by  Gil  Polo."  "  Pray,"  said  the  curate,  "  let 
Salmantino  increase  the  number  of  the  criminals 
in  the  yard  ;  but  as  for  that  by  Gil  Polo,  preserve 
it  as  charily  as  if  Apollo  himself  had  wrote  it ;  and 
go  on  as  fast  as  you  can,  I  beseech  you,  good 
neighbor,  for  it  grows  late."  "  Here,"  quoth  the 
barber,  "  I've  a  book  called  the  Ten  Books  of  the 
Fortunes  of  Love,  by  Anthony  de  Lofraco,  a  Sar- 
dinian poet."  "  Now,  by  my  holy  orders,"  cried 
the  curate,  "  I  do  not  think  since  Apollo  was  Apol- 
lo, the  muses  muses,  and  the  poets  poets,  there  ever 
was  a  more  comical,  more  whimsical  book  !  Of  all 


DON   QUIXOTE.  65 

the  works  of  the  kind,  commend  me  to  this,  for  in 
its  way  'tis  certainly  the  best  and  most  singular 
that  ever  was  published,  and  he  that  never  read  it, 
may  safely  think  he  never  in  his  life  read  any  thing 
that  was  pleasant.  Give  it  me,  neighbor,"  conti- 
nued he,  "  for  I  am  more  glad  to  have  found  it,  than 
if  any  one  had  given  me  a  cassock  of  the  best 
Florence  serge."  With  that  he  laid  it  aside  with 
extraordinary  satisfaction,  and  the  barber  went  on  : 
"  These  that  follow,"  cried  he,  "  are  the  Shepherd 
.  of  Iberia,  the  Nymphs  of  Enares,  and  the  Cure  of 
Jealousy."  "  Take  them,  jailer,"  quoth  the  curate, 
"  and  never  ask  me  why,  for  then  we  shall  ne'er 
have  done."  "  The  next,"  said  the  barber,  "  is  the 
Shepherd  of  Filida."  "  He's  no  shepherd,"  returned 
the  curate,  "  but  a  very  discreet  courtier  ;  keep  him 
as  a  precious  jewel."  "  Here's  a  bigger,"  cried  the 
barber,  "  called  The  Treasure  of  Divers  Poems." 
"  Had  there  been  fewer  of  them,"  said  the  curate, 
"they  would  have  been  more  esteemed.  'Tis  fit 
the  book  should  be  pruned  and  cleared  of  several 
trifles  that  disgrace  the  rest ;  keep  it,  however,  be- 
cause the  author  is  my  friend,  and  for  the  sake  of 
his  other  more  heroic  and  lofty  productions." 
"  Here's  a  book  of  songs  by  Lopez  Maldonardo," 
cried  the  barber.  "  He's  also  my  particular  friend," 
said  the  curate ;  "  his  verses  are  very  well  liked 
when  he  reads  them  himself;  and  his  voice  is  so 
excellent,  that  they  charm  us  whenever  he  sings 
them.  He  seems  indeed  to  be  somewhat  too  long 
in  his  eclogues  ;  but  can  we  ever  have  too  much  of 
a  good  thing  ?  Let  him  be  preserved  among  the 
best.  What's  the  next  book  ?  "  "  The  Galatea  of 
VOL.  i.  5 


66  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

Miguel  de  Cervantes,"  replied  the  barber.  "  That 
Cervantes  has  been  my  intimate  acquaintance  these 
many  years,"  cried  the  curate ;  "  and  I  know  he  has 
been  more  conversant  with  misfortunes  than  with 
poetry.  His  book  indeed  has  I  don't  know  what 
that  looks  like  a  good  design ;  he  aims  at  some- 
thing, but  concludes  nothing;  therefore  we  must 
stay  for  the  second  part,  which  he  has  promised 
us ;  *  perhaps  he  may  make  us  amends,  and  obtain 
a  full  pardon,  which  is  denied  him  for  the  present ; 
till  that  time,  keep  him  close  prisoner  at  your 
house."  "I  will,"  quoth  the  barber;  "but  see,  I 
have  here  three  more  for  you,  the  Araucana  of  Don 
Alonso  de  Ercilla,  the  Austirada  of  Juan  Ruffo,  a 
magistrate  of  Cordova,  and  the  Monserrato  of 
Christopher  de  Virves,  a  Valentian  poet."  "  These," 
cried  the  curate,  "  are  the  best  heroic  poems  we 
have  in  Spanish,  and  may  vie  with  the  most  cele- 
brated of  Italy ;  reserve  them  as  the  most  valuable 
performance  which  Spain  has  to  boast  of  in  poetry." 
At  last  the  curate  grew  so  tired  with  prying  into 
so  many  volumes,  that  he  ordered  all  the  rest  to  be 
burnt  at  a  venture.f  But  the  barber  showed  him 
one  which  he  had  opened  by  chance  ere  the  dread- 
ful sentence  was  past.  "  Truly,"  said  the  curate, 
who  saw  by  the  title  it  was  the  Tears  of  Angelica, 
"  I  should  have  wept  myself,  had  I  caused  such  a 
book  to  share  the  condemnation  of  the  rest ;  for  the 

*  Cervantes  never  performed  this  promise, 
f  In  the  original,  a  Cargo  Cerrada,  (inside  and  contents  un- 
known,) a  mercantile  phrase  used  in  their  bills  of  lading. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  67 

author  was  not  only  one  of  the  best  poets  in  Spain, 
but  in  the  whole  world,  and  translated  some  of 
Ovid's  fables  with  extraordinary  success." 


CHAPTER  VIL 

DON  QUIXOTE'S  SECOND  SALLY  IN  QUEST  OF  ADVENTURES. 

WHILE  they  were  thus  employed,  Don  Quixote 
in  a  raving  fit  began  to  talk  aloud  to  himself. 
"  Here,  here,  valorous  knights."  cried  he,  "  now's 
the  time  that  you  must  exert  the  strength  of  your 
mighty  arms ;  for  lo,  the  courtiers  bear  away  the 
honor  of  the  tournament."  This  amazing  outcry 
called  away  the  inquisitors  from  any  further  exami- 
nation of  the  library  ;  and  therefore  the  housekeeper 
and  the  niece,  being  left  to  their  own  discretion,  it 
is  thought  the  Carolea  and  Leo  of  Spain,  with 
the  Deeds  of  the  Emperor,  written  by  Don  Lewis 
d' Avila,  which  to  be  sure  were  part  of  the  collection, 
were  committed  to  the  flames  unseen  and  unheard, 
without  any  legal  trial ;  a  fate  which  perhaps  they 
might  have  escaped,  had  the  curate  been  there  to 
have  weighed  what  might  have  been  urged  in  their 
defence. 

When  they  came  into  Don  Quixote's  chamber, 
they  found  him  risen  out  of  his  bed,  as  mad  as  ever 
he  was,  tearing  his  throat,  and  making  a  heavy 
bustle,  laying  about  him  with  his  sword,  back-stroke 
and  fore-stroke,  as  broad  awake  as  if  he  had  never 
slept.  They  ran  in  upon  him,  caught  him  in  their 
arms,  and  carried  him  to  bed  again  by  main  force ; 


68  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

where,  after  he  was  somewhat  quiet  and  settled, 
turning  himself  to  the  curate,  "  Certainly,"  cried  he, 
"  rny  Lord  Archbishop  Turpin,  'tis  a  great  dishonor 
to  us  who  are  called  the  twelve  peers,  to  suffer  the 
knights  of  the  court  to  bear  away  the  honor  of  the 
tournament  without  any  further  opposition,  after 
we  the  knight  adventurers  had  carried  it  for  three 
days  before."  "  Be  pacified,  my  good  friend,"  re- 
plied the  curate;  fortune  may  have  yet  a  better 
success  in  reserve  for  you,  and  they  who  lose  to-day 
may  win  to-morrow;  at  present  think  on  your 
health,  for  doubtless  you  must  needs  be  now  ex- 
tremely tired,  if  not  very  much  wounded."  "Wound- 
ed! "replied  Don  Quixote,  "  no  ;  but  as  for  being 
bruised,  I  will  not  deny  it,  for  that  base-born  knight 
Don  Orlando  has  battered  all  my  limbs  with  the 
trunk  of  an  oak,  out  of  mere  envy,  because  he  sees 
that  I  only  dare  rival  his  exploits :  but  may  I  no 
more  be  called  Rinaldo  of  Montalban,  if,  in  spite 
of  his  enchantments,  I  do  not  make  him  severely 
pay  for  this,  as  soon  as  I  can  leave  my  bed ;  and 
therefore  let  my  dinner  be  brought  in,  for  'tis  what  I 
want  most  at  this  juncture,  and  then  let  me  alone 
to  revenge  this  abuse."  Accordingly  they  brought 
him  some  victuals,  which  when  he  had  eaten,  he 
fell  asleep  again,  and  they  left  him,  all  of  them 
strangely  amazed  at  his  uncommon  madness.  That 
night  the  housekeeper  burnt  all  the  books,  not  only 
those  in  the  yard,  but  all  those  that  were  in  the 
house ;  and  several  suffered  in  the  general  calamity, 
that  deserved  to  have  been  treasured  up  in  everlast- 
ing archives,  had  not  their  fate  and  the  remissness 
of  the  inquisitors  ordered  it  otherwise.  And  thus 


DON   QUIXOTE.  69 

they  verified  the  proverb,  That  the  good  often  fare 
the  worse  for  the  bad. 

One  of  the  expedients  which  the  curate  and  the 
barber  thought  themselves  of,  in  order  to  their 
friend's  recovery,  was  to  stop  up  the  door  of  the 
room  where  his  books  lay,  that  he  might  not  find 
it,  nor  miss  them  when  he  rose ;  for  they  hoped  the 
effect  would  cease  when  they  had  taken  away  the 
cause ;  and  they  ordered,  that  if  he  inquired  about 
it,  they  should  tell  him,  that  a  certain  enchanter 
had  carried  away  study,  books,  and  all.  Two  days 
after,  Don  Quixote  being  got  up,  the  first  thing  he 
did  was  to  go  visit  his  darling  books ;  and  as  he 
could  not  find  the  study  in  the  place  where  he  had 
left  it,  he  went  up  and  down,  and  looked  for  it  in 
every  room.  Sometimes  he  came  to  the  place  where 
the  door  used  to  stand,  and  then  stood  feeling  and 
groping  about  a  good  while,  then  cast  his  eyes,  and 
stared  on  every  side,  without  speaking  a  word.  At 
last,  after  a  long  deliberation,  he  thought  fit  to  ask 
his  housekeeper  which  was  the  way  to  his  study. 
"  What  study,"  answered  the  woman,  according  to 
her  instructions,  "  or  rather,  what  nothing  is  it  you 
look  for?  Alas!  here's  neither  study  nor  books  in^ 
the  house  now,  for  the  devil  is  run  away  with  them 
all."  "  No,  'twas  not  the  devil,"  said  the  niece,  "  but 
a  conjurer,  or  an  enchanter,  as  they  call  them,  who, 
since  you  went,  came  hither  one  night  mounted  on 
a  dragon  on  the  top  of  a  cloud,  and  then  alighting, 
went  into  your  study,  where  what  he  did,  he  and 
the  devil  best  can  tell,  for  a  while  after,  he  flew  out 
at  the  roof  of  the  house,  leaving  it  all  full  of  smoke ; 
and  when  we  went  to  see  what  he  had  done,  we 


70  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

could  neither  find  the  books,  nor  so  much  as  the 
very  study ;  only  the  housekeeper  and  I  very  well 
remember,  that  when  the  old  thief  went  away,  he 
cried  out  aloud,  that  out  of  a  private  grudge  which 
he  bore  in  his  mind  to  the  owner  of  those  books,  he 
had  done  the  house  a  mischief,  as  we  should  soon 
perceive;  and  then  I  think  he  called  himself  the 
sage  Muniaton."  "  Not  Muniaton,  but  Freston, 
you  should  have  said,"  cried  Don  Quixote.  "  Truly," 
quoth  the  niece,  "  I  can't  tell  whether  it  was  Fres- 
ton, or  Friston,  but  sure  I  am  that  his  name  ended 
with  a  ton."  "  It  is  so,"  returned  Don  Quixote, 
"  for  he  is  a  famous  necromancer,  and  my  mortal 
enemy,  and  bears  me  a  great  deal  of  malice  ;  for 
seeing  by  his  art,  that  in  spite  of  all  his  spells,  in 
process  of  time  I  shall  fight  and  vanquish  in  single 
combat  a  knight  whose  interests  he  espouses,  there- 
fore he  endeavors  to  do  me  all  manner  of  mischief; 
but  I  dare  assure  him,  that  he  strives  against  the 
stream,  nor  can  his  power  reverse  the  first  decrees 
of  fate."  "Who  doubts  of  that  ?  "  cried  the  niece  ; 
"  but,  dear  uncle,  what  makes  you  run  yourself  into 
these  quarrels  ?  had  not  you  better  stay  at  home, 
and  live  in  peace  and  quietness,  than  go  rambling 
up  and  down  like  a  vagabond,  and  seeking  for  bet- 
ter bread  than  is  made  of  wheat,  without  once  so 
much  as  considering,  that  many  go  to  seek  wool, 
and  come  home  shorn  themselves."  "  Oh,  good 
niece,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  how  ill  thou  under- 
standest  these  matters  !  know,  that  before  I  will  suf- 
fer myself  to  be  shorn,  I  will  tear  and  pluck  off  the 
beards  of  all  those  audacious  mortals  that  shall  at- 
tempt to  profane  the  tip  of  one  single  hair  within 


DON   QUIXOTE.  71 

the  verge  of  these  moustaches."  To  this  neither 
the  niece  nor  the  governess  thought  fit  to  make  any 
reply,  for  they  perceived  the  knight  to  grow  angry. 

Full  fifteen  days  did  our  knight  remain  quietly 
at  home,  without  betraying  the  least  sign  of  his  de- 
sire to  renew  his  rambling  ;  during  which  time  there 
passed  a  great  deal  of  pleasant  discourse  between 
him  and  his  two  friends,  the  curate  and  the  barber; 
while  he  maintained,  that  there  was  nothing  the 
world  stood  so  much  in  need  of  as  knights-errant; 
wherefore  he  was  resolved  to  revive  the  order ;  in 
which  disputes,  Mr.  Curate  sometimes  contradicted 
him,  and  sometimes  submitted ;  for  had  he  not  now 
and  then  given  way  to  his  fancies,  there  would  have 
been  no  conversing  with  him. 

In  the  mean  time  Don  Quixote  earnestly  solicited 
one  of  his  neighbors,  a  country  laborer,  and  a  good 
honest  fellow,  if  we  may  call  a  poor  man  honest, 
for  he  was  poor  indeed,  poor  in  purse,  and  poor  in 
brains ;  and,  in  short,  the  knight  talked  so  long  to 
him,  plied  him  with  so  many  arguments,  and  made 
him  so  many  fair  promises,  that  at  last  the  poor 
silly  clown  consented  to  go  along  with  him,  and 
become  his  squire.  Among  other  inducements  to 
entice  him  to  do  it  willingly,  Don  Quixote  forgot 
not  to  tell  him,  that  it  was  likely  such  an  adventure 
would  present  itself,  as  might  secure  him  the  con- 
quest of  some  island  in  the  time  that  he  might  be 
picking  up  a  straw  or  two,  and  then  the  squire 
might  promise  himself  to  be  made  governor  of  the 
place.  Allured  with  these  large  promises,  and 
many  others,  Sancho-  Panza  (for  that  was  the  name 


72  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

of  the  fellow)  forsook  his  wife  and  children  to  be 
his  neighbor's  squire. 

This  done,  Don  Quixote  made  it  his  business  to 
furnish  himself  with  money ;  to  which  purpose,  sell- 
ing one  house,  mortgaging  another,  and  losing  by 
all,  he  at  last  got  a  pretty  good  sum  together.  He 
also  borrowed  a  target  of  a  friend,  and  having 
patched  up  his  head-piece  and  beaver  as  well  as  he 
could,  he  gave  his  squire  notice  of  the  day  and  hour 
when  he  intended  to  set  out,  that  he  might  also  fur- 
nish himself  with  what  he  thought  necessary;  but 
above  all,  he  charged  him  fa  provide  himself  with 
a  wallet ;  which  Sancho  promised  to  do,  telling  him 
he  would  also  take  his  ass  along  with  him,  which 
being  a  very  good  one,  might  be  a  great  ease  to 
him,  for  he  was  not  used  to  travel  much  a-foot. 
The  mentioning  of  the  ass  made  the  noble  knight 
pause  awhile ;  he  mused  and  pondered  whether  he 
had  ever  read  of  any  knight-errant  whose  squire 
used  to  ride  upon  an  ass ;  but  he  could  not  remem- 
ber any  precedent  for  it;  however,  he  gave  him 
leave  at  last  to  bring  his  ass,  hoping  to  mount  him 
more  honorably  with  the  first  opportunity,  by  un- 
horsing the  next  discourteous  knight  he  should 
meet.  He  also  furnished  himself  with  shirts,  and 
as  many  other  necessaries  as  he  could  conveniently 
carry,  according  to  the  innkeeper's  injunctions. 
Which  being  done,  Sancho  Panza,  without  bid- 
ding either  his  wife  or  children  good-by ;  and  Don 
Quixote,  without  taking  any  more  notice  of  his 
housekeeper  or  of  his  niece,  stole  out  of  the  village 
one  night,  nor  so  much  as  suspected  by  any  body, 
and  made  such  haste,  that  by  break  of  day  they 


DON   QUIXOTE.  73 

thotight  themselves  out  of  reach,  should  they  hap- 
pen to  be  pursued.  As  for  Sancho  Panza,  he  rode 
like  a  patriarch,  with  his  canvas  knapsack,  or  wal- 
let, and  his  leathern  bottle,  having  a  huge  desire  to 
see  himself  governor  of  the  island,  which  his  mas- 
ter had  promised  him. 

Don  Quixote  happened  to  strike  into  the  same 
road  which  he  took  the  time  before,  that  is,  the 
plains  of  Montiel,  over  which  he  travelled  with  less 
inconvenience  than  when  he  went  alone,  by  reason 
it  was  ^et  early  in  the  morning ;  at  which  time  the 
sunbeams  being  almost  parallel  to  the  surface  of 
the  earth,  and  not  directly  darted  down,  as  in  the 
middle  of  the  day,  did  not  prove  so  offensive.  As 
they  jogged  on,  "  I  beseech  your  worship,  Sir  knight- 
errant,"  quoth  Sancho  to  his  master,  "  be  sure  you 
don't  forget  what  you  promised  me  about  the 
island ;  for  I  dare  say  I  shall  make  shift  to  govern 
it,  let  it  be  never  so  big."  "  You  must  know,  friend 
Sancho,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  that  it  has  been 
the  constant  practice  of  knights-errant  in  former 
ages,  to  make  their  squires  governors  of  the  islands 
or  kingdoms  they  conquered;  now  I  am  not  only 
resolved  to  keep  up  that  laudable  custom,  but  even 
to  improve  it,  and  outdo  my  predecessors  in  gene- 
rosity ;  for  whereas  sometimes,  or  rather  most  com- 
monly, other  knights  delayed  rewarding  their  squires 
till  they  were  grown  old,  and  worn  out  with  services, 
bad  days,  worse  nights,  and  all  manner  of  hard 
duty,  and  then  put  them  off  with  some  title,  either 
of  count,  or  at  least  marquis  of  some  valley  or  pro- 
vince, of  great  or  small  extent ;  now,  if  thou  and  I 
do  but  live,  it  may  happen,  that  before  we  have 


74  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

passed  six  days  together,  I  may  conquer  some  king- 
dom, having  many  other  kingdoms  annexed  to  its 
imperial  crown  ;  and  this  would  fall  out  most  luck- 
ily for  thee ;  for  then  would  I  presently  crown  thee 
king  of  one  of  them.  Nor  do  thou  imagine  this  to 
be  a  mighty  matter ;  for  so  strange  accidents  and 
revolutions,  so  sudden  and  so  unforeseen,  attend  the 
profession  of  chivalry,  that  I  might  easily  give  thee 
a  great  deal  more  than  I  have  promised."  "  Why, 
should  this  come  to  pass,"  quoth  Sancho  Panza, 
"  and  I  be  made  a  king  by  some  such  miracle,  as 
your  worship  says,  then  happy  be  lucky,  my 
Whither  d'ye-go  Mary  Gutierez  would  be  at  least 
a  queen,  and  my  children  infantas  and  princes,  an't 
like,  your  worship."  "  Who  doubts  of  that?  "  cried 
Don  Quixote.  "  I  doubt  of  it,"  replied  Sancho 
Panza ;  "  for  I  cannot  help  believing,  that  though  it 
should  rain  kingdoms  down  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth,  not  one  of  them  would  sit  well  upon  Mary 
Gutierez's  head  ;  for  I  must  needs  tell  you,  she's  not 
worth  two  brass  jacks  to  make  a  queen  of;  no, 
countess  would  be  better  for  her,  an't  please  you ; 
and  that  too,  God  help  her,  will  be  as  much  as  she 
can  handsomely  manage."  "  Recommend  the  mat- 
ter to  providence,"  returned  Don  Quixote,  "  'twill 
be  sure  to  give  what  is  most  expedient  for  thee ;  but 
yet  disdain  to  entertain  inferior  thoughts,  and  be 
not  tempted  to  accept  less  than  the  dignity  of  a 
viceroy."  "  No  more  I  won't,  sir,"  quoth  Sancho, 
"  especially  since  I  have  so  rare  a  master  as  your 
worship,  who  will  take  care  to  give  me  whatever 
may  be  fit  for  me,  and  what  I  may  be  able  to  deal 
with." 


DON  QUIXOTE.  75 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

OF  THE  GOOD  SUCCESS  WHICH  THE  VALOROUS  DON  QUIX- 
OTE HAD  IN  THE  MOST  TERRIFYING  AND  NEVER-TO-BE- 
IMAGINED  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  WIND-MILLS,  WITH  OTHER 
TRANSACTIONS  WORTHY  TO  BE  TRANSMITTED  TO  POS- 
TERITY. 

As  they  were  thus  discoursing,  they  discovered 
some  thirty  or  forty  wind-mills,  that  are  in  that 
plain ;  and  as  soon  as  the  knight  had  spied  them, 
"  Fortune,"  cried  he,  "  directs  our  affairs  better  than 
we  ourselves  could  have  wished ;  look  yonder,  friend 
Sancho,  there  are  at  least  thirty  outrageous  giants, 
whom  I  intend  to  encounter ;  and  having  deprived 
them  of  life,  we  will  begin  to  enrich  ourselves  with 
their  spoils ;  for  they  are  lawful  prize ;  and  the  ex- 
tirpation of  that  cursed  brood  will  be  an  acceptable 
service  to  Heaven."  "What  giants?"  quoth  San- 
cho Panza.  "  Those  whom  thou  see'st  yonder," 
answered  Don  Quixote,  "  with  their  long  extended 
arms ;  some  of  that  detested  race  have  arms  of  so 
immense  a  size,  that  sometimes  they  reach  two 
leagues  in  length."  "  Pray  look  better,  sir,"  quoth 
Sancho ;  "  those  things  yonder  are  no  giants,  but 
wind-mills,  and  the  arms  you  fancy,  are  their  sails, 
which  being  whirled  about  by  the  wind,  make  the 
mill  go."  "'Tis  a  sign,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "thou 
art  but  little  acquainted  with  adventures !  I  tell 
thee,  they  are  giants ;  and  therefore  if  thou  art 
afraid,  go  aside  and  say  thy  prayers,  for  I  am  re- 
solved to  engage  in  a  dreadful  unequal  combat 


76  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

against  them  all."  This  said,  he  clapt  spurs  to  his 
horse  Rozinante,  without  giving  ear  to  his  squire 
Sancho,  who  bawled  out  to  him,  and  assured  him, 
that  they  were  wind-mills,  and  no  giants.  But  he 
was  so  fully  possessed  with  a  strong  conceit  of 
the  contrary,  that  he  did  not  so  much  as  hear  his 
squire's  outcry,  nor  was  he  sensible  of  what  they 
were,  although  he  was  already  very  near  them :  far 
from  that,  "  Stand,  cowards,"  cried  he,  as  loud  as 
he  could;  "stand  your  ground,  ignoble  creatures, 
and  fly  not  basely  from  a  single  knight,  who  dares 
encounter  you  all."  At  the  same  time  the  wind 
rising,  the  mill-sails  began  to  move,  which,  when 
Don  Quixote  spied,  "Base  miscreants,"  cried  he, 
"  though  you  move  more  arms  than  the  giant  Bri- 
areus,  you  shall  pay  for  your  arrogance."  He  most 
devoutly  recommended  himself  to  his  Lady  Dulci- 
nea,  imploring  her  assistance  in  this  perilous  adven- 
ture ;  and  so  covering  himself  with  his  shield,  and 
couching  his  lance,  he  rushed  with  Rozinante's  ut- 
most speed  upon  the  first  wind-mill  he  could  come 
at,  and  running  his  lance  into  the  sail,  the  wind 
whirled  it  about  with  such  swiftness,  that  the 
rapidity  of  the  motion  presently  broke  the  lance 
into  shivers,  and  hurled  away  both  knight  and 
horse  along  with  it,  till  down  he  fell,  rolling  a  good 
way  off  in  the  field.  Sancho  Panza  ran  as  fast  as 
his  ass  could  drive,  to  help  his  master,  whom  he 
found  lying,  and  not  able  to  stir,  such  a  blow  he 
and  Rozinante  had  received.  "Mercy  o' me!" 
cried  Sancho,  "did  not  I  give  your  worship  fair 
warning?  did  not  I  tell  you  they  were  wind-mills, 
and  that  nobody  could  think  otherwise,  unless  he 


DON   QUIXOTE.  77 

had  also  wind-mills  in  his  head  ?  "  "  Peace,  friend 
Sancho,"  replied  Don  Quixote;  "there  is  nothing 
so  subject  to  the  inconstancy  of  fortune  as  war.  I 
am  verily  persuaded,  that  cursed  necromancer  Fres- 
ton,  who  carried  away  my  study  and  rny  books,  has 
transformed  these  giants  into  wind-mills,  to  deprive 
me  of  the  honor  of  the  victory,  such  is  his  invete- 
rate malice  against  me ;  but  in  the  end,  all  his  per- 
nicious wiles  and  stratagems  shall  prove  ineffectual 
against  the  prevailing  edge  of  my  sword."  "  Amen, 
say  I,"  replied  Sancho.  And  so  heaving  him  up 
again  upon  his  legs,  once  more  the  knight  mounted 
poor  Rozinante,  that  was  half  shoulder-slipp'd  with 
his  fall. 

This  adventure  was  the  subject  of  their  discourse, 
as  they  made  the  best  of  their  way  towards  the  pass 
of  Lapice;*  for  Don  Quixote  took  that  road,  be- 
lieving he  could  not  miss  of  adventures  in  one  so 
mightily  frequented.  However,  the  loss  of  his 
lance  was  no  small  affliction  to  him  ;  and  as  he  was 
making  his  complaint  about  it  to  his  squire,  "  I 
have  read,"  said  he,  "  friend  Sancho,  that  a  certain 
Spanish  knight,  whose  name  was  Diego  Perez  de 
Vargas,  having  broken  his  sword  in  the  heat  of  an 
engagement,  pulled  up  by  the  roots  a  huge  oak  tree, 
or  at  least  tore  down  a  massy  branch,  and  did  such 
wonderful  execution,  crushing  and  grinding  so  many 
Moors  with  it  that  day,  that  he  won  himself  and 
his  posterity  the  surname  of  f  The  Pounder,  or 

*  A  pass  in  the  mountains,  such  as  they  call  Puerto  Seco,  a 
dry  port,  where  the  king's  officers  levy  the  tolls  and  customs 
upon  passengers  and  goods. 

•f-  Machuca,  from  Machucar,  to  pound  in  a  mortar. 


78  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OP 

Bruiser.  I  tell  thee  this,  because  I  intend  to  tear 
up  the  next  oak,  or  holm-tree,  we  meet ;  with  the 
trunk  whereof  I  hope  to  perform  such  wondrous 
deeds,  that  thou  wilt  esteem  thyself  particularly 
happy  in  having  had  the  honor  to  behold  them, 
and  been  the  ocular  witness  of  achievements  which 
posterity  will  scarce  be  able  to  believe."  "  Heaven 
grant  you  may,"  cried  Sancho  ;  "  I  believe  it  all, 
because  your  worship  says  it.  But,  an't  please  you, 
sit  a  little  more  upright  in  your  saddle ;  you  ride 
sideling,  methinks;  but  that,  I  suppose,  proceeds 
from  your  being  bruised  by  the  fall."  "  It  does  so," 
replied  Don  Quixote ;  "  and  if  I  do  not  complain 
of  the  pain,  it  is  because  a  knight-errant  must 
never  complain  of  his  wounds,  though  his  bowels 
were  dropping  out  through  them."  "  Then  I  have 
no  more  to  say,"  quoth  Sancho ;  "  and  yet  Heaven 
knows  my  heart,  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  your  wor- 
ship hone  a  little  now  and  then  when  something 
ails  you ;  for  my  part,  I  shall  not  fail  to  bemoan 
myself  when  I  suffer  the  smallest  pain,  unless  in- 
deed it  can  be  proved,  that  the  rule  of  not  com- 
plaining extends  to  the  squires  as  well  as  knights." 
Don  Quixote  could  not  forbear  smiling  at  the 
simplicity  of  his  squire ;  and  told  him  he  gave  him 
leave  to  complain  not  only  when  he  pleased,  but  as 
much  as  he  pleased,  whether  he  had  any  cause  or 
no ;  for  he  had  never  yet  read  any  thing  to  the  con- 
trary in  any  books  of  chivalry.  Sancho  desired 
him,  however,  to  consider,  that  it  was  high  time  to 
go  to  dinner ;  but  his  master  answered  him,  that 
he  might  eat  whenever  he  pleased  ;  as  for  himself, 
he  was  not  yet  disposed  to  do  it.  Sancho  having 


DON   QUIXOTE.  79 

thus  obtained  leave,  fixed  himself  as  orderly  as  he 
could  upon  his  ass ;  and  taking  some  victuals  out 
of  his  wallet,  fell  to  munching  lustily  as  he  rode  be- 
hind his  master ;  and  ever  and  anon  he  lifted  his 
bottle  to  his  nose,  and  fetched  such  hearty  pulls, 
that  it  would  have  made  the  best  pampered  vintner 
in  Malaga  a-dry  to  have  seen  him.  While  he  thus 
went  on  stuffing  and  swilling,  he  did  not  think  in 
the  least  of  all  his  master's  great  promises ;  and 
was  so  far  from  esteeming  it  a  trouble  to  travel  in 
quest  of  adventures,  that  he  fancied  it  to  be  the 
greatest  pleasure  in  the  world,  though  they  were 
never  so  dreadful. 

In  fine,  they  passed  that  night  under  some  trees  ; 
from  one  of  which  Don  Quixote  tore  a  withered 
branch,  which  in  some  sort  was  able  to  serve  him 
for  a  lance,  and  to  this  he  fixed  the  head  or  spear 
of  his  broken  lance.  But  he  did  not  sleep  all  that 
night,  keeping  his  thoughts  intent  on  his  dear  Dul- 
cinea,  in  imitation  of  what  he  had  read  in  books  of 
chivalry,  where  the  knights  pass  their  time,  without 
sleep,  in  forests  and  deserts,  wholly  taken  up  with 
the  entertaining  thoughts  of  their  absent  mistresses. 
As  for  Sancho,  he  did  not  spend  the  night  at  that 
idle  rate ;  for,  having  his  paunch  well  stuffed  with 
something  more  substantial  than  dandelion-water, 
he  made  but  one  nap  of  it ;  and  had  not  his  master 
waked  him,  neither  the  sprightly  beams  which  the 
sun  darted  on  his  face,  nor  the  melody  of  the  birds, 
that  cheerfully  on  every  branch  welcomed  the  smil- 
ing morn,  would  have  been  able  to  have  made  him 
stir.  As  he  got  up,  to  clear  his  eye-sight,  he  took 
two  or  three  long-winded  swigs  at  his  friendly  bot- 


80  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

tie  for  a_morning's  draught :  but  he  found  it  some- 
what lighter  than  it  was  the  night  before ;  which 
misfortune  went  to  his  very  heart,  for  he  shrewdly 
mistrusted  that  he  was  not  in  a  way  to  cure  it  of 
that  distemper  as  soon  as  he  could  have  wished. 
On  the  other  side,  Don  Quixote  would  not  break 
fast,  having  been  feasting  all  night  on  the  more  de- 
licate and  savory  thoughts  of  his  mistress ;  and 
therefore  they  went  on  directly  towards  the  pass  of 
Lapice,  which  they  discovered  about  three  o'clock. 
When  they  came  near  it,  "  Here  it  is,  brother  San- 
cho,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  that  we  may  wanton, 
and,  as  it  were,  thrust  our  arms  up  to  the  very  el- 
bows, in  that  which  we  call  adventures.  But  let 
me  give  thee  one  necessary  caution  ;  know,  that 
though  thou  should'st  see  me  in  the  greatest  extre- 
mity of  danger,  thou  must  not  offer  to  draw  thy 
sword  in  my  defence,  unless  thou  findest  me  as- 
saulted by  base  plebeians  and  vile  scoundrels;  for  in 
such  a  case  thou  may'st  assist  thy  master:  but  if 
those  with  whom  I  am  fighting  are  knights,  thou 
must  not  do  it,  for  the  laws  of  chivalry  do  not  al- 
low thee  to  encounter  a  knight,  till  thou  art  one  thy- 
self." "  Never  fear,"  quoth  Sancho ;  "  I'll  be  sure 
to  obey  your  worship  in  that.  I'll  warrant  you ;  for 
I  have  ever  loved  peace  and  quietness,  and  never 
cared  to  thrust  myself  into  frays  and  quarrels  ;  and 
yet  I  don't  care  to  take  blows  «.t  any  one's  hands 
neither;  and  should  any  knight  offer  to  set  upon 
me  first,  I  fancy  I  should  hardly  mind  your  laws ; 
for  all  laws,  whether  of  God  or  man,  allow  one  to 
stand  in  his  own  defence,  if  any  offer  to  do  him  a 
mischief."  "  I  agree  to  that,"  replied  Don  Quixote ; 


DON  QUIXOTE.  81 

T 

"  but  as  for  helping  me  against  any  knights,  them 
must  set  bounds  to  thy  natural  impulses."  "  I'll 
be  sure  to  do  it,"  quoth  Sancho  ;  "  never  trust  me  if 
I  don't  keep  your  commandments  as  well  as  I  do 
the  Sabbath." 

As  they  were  talking,  they  spied  coming  towards 
them  two  monks  of  the  order  of  St.  Benedict,  mount- 
ed on  two  dromedaries,  for  the  mules  on  which  they 
rode  were  so  high  and  stately,  that  they  seemed  little 
less.  They  wore  riding-masks,  with  glasses  at  the 
eyes,  against  the  dust,  and  umbrellas  to  shelter  them 
from  the  sun.  After  them  came  a  coach,  with  four 
or  five  men  on  horseback,  and  two  muleteers  on  foot. 
There  proved  to  be  in  the  coach  a  Biscayan  lady, 
who  was  going  to  Seville  to  meet  her  husband,  that 
was  there  in  order  to  embark  for  the  Indies,  to  take 
possession  of  a  considerable  post.  Scarce  had  Don 
Quixote  perceived  the  monks,  who  were  not  of  the 
same  company,  though  they  went  the  same  way, 
but  he  cried  to  his  squire,  "  Either  I  am  deceived, 
or  this  will  prove  the  most  famous  adventure  that 
ever  was  known  ;  for  without  all  question  those  two 
black  things  that  move  towards  us  must  be  some 
necromancers,  that  are  carrying  away  by  force  some 
princess  in  that  coach  ;  and  'tis  my  duty  to  prevent 
so  great  an  injury."  "  I  fear  me  this  will  prove 
a  worse  job  than  the  wind-mills,"  quoth  Sancho. 
"  'Slife,  sir,  don't  you-see  these  are  Benedictine  friars, 
and  'tis  likely  the  coach  belongs  to  some  travellers 
that  are  in  it :  therefore  once  more  take  warning,  and 
don't  you  be  led  away  by  the  devil."  "  I  have 
already  told  thee,  Sancho,"  replied  Don  Quixote, 
"thou  art  miserably  ignorant  in  matters  of  adven- 

VOL.   T.  fi 


82  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

r 

tures  :  what  I  say  is  true,  and  thou  shalt  find  it  so 
presently."  This  said,  he  spurred  on  his  horse,  and 
posted  himself  just  in  the  midst  of  the  road  where 
the  monks  were  to  pass.  And  when  they  came 
within  hearing,  "  Cursed  implements  of  hell,"  cried 
he  in  a  loud  and  haughty  tone,  "  immediately  release 
those  high-born  princesses  whom  you  are  violently 
conveying  away  in  the  coach,  or  else  prepare  to  meet 
with  instant  death,  as  the  just  punishment  of  your 
pernicious  deeds."  The  monks  stopt  their  mules, 
no  less  astonished  at  the  figure,  than  at  the  expres- 
sions of  the  speaker.  u  Sir  Knight,"  cried  they, 
"  we  are  no  such  persons  as  you  are  pleased  to  term 
us,  but  religious  men  of  the  Order  of  St.  Benedict, 
that  travel  about  our  affairs,  and  are  wholly  igno- 
rant whether  or  no  there  are  any  princesses  carried 
away  by  force  in  that  coach."  "  I  am  not  to  be  de- 
ceived with  fair  words,"  replied  Don  Quixote ;  "  I 
know  you  well  enough,  perfidious  caitiffs ; "  and 
immediately,  without  expecting  their  reply,  he  set 
spurs  to  Rozinante,  and  ran  so  furiously,  with  his 
lance  couched,  against  the  first  monk,  that  if  he  had 
not  prudently  flung  himself  off  to  the  ground,  the 
knight  would  certainly  have  laid  him  either  dead, 
or  grievously  wounded.  The  other,  observing  the 
discourteous  usage  of  his  companion,  clapped  his 
heels  to  his  over-grown  mule's'  flanks,  and  scoured 
over  the  plain  as  if  he  had  bees  running  a  race  with 
the  wind.  Sancho  Panza  no  sooner  saw  the  monk 
fall,  but  he  nimbly  skipt  off'  his  ass,  and  running  to 
him,  began  to  strip  him  immediately  ;  but  then  the 
two  muleteers,  who  waited  on  the  monks,  came  up 
to  him,  and  asked  why  he  offered  to  strip  him  ? 


DON  QUIXOTE.  83 

Sancho  told  them,  that  this  belonged  to  him  as  law- 
ful plunder,  being  the  spoils  won  in  battle  by  his 
lord  and  master  Don  Quixote.  The  fellows,  with 
whom  there  was  no  jesting,  not  knowing  what  he 
meant  by  his  spoils  and  battle,  and  seeing  Don  Quix- 
ote at  a  good  distance  in  deep  discourse  by  the  side 
of  the  coach,  fell  both  upon  poor  Sancho,  threw  him 
down,  tore  his  beard  from  his  chin,  trampled  on  his 
guts,  thumped  and  mauled  him  in  every  part  of  his 
carcass,  and  there  left  him  sprawling  without  breath 
or  motion.  In  the  meanwhile  the  monk,  scared  out 
of  his  wits,  and  as  pale  as  a  ghost,  got  upon  his 
mule  again  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  spurred  after  his 
friend,  who  staid  for  him  at  a  distance,  expecting 
the. issue  of  this  strange  adventure ;  but  being  un- 
willing to  stay  to  see  the  end  of  it,  they  made  the 
best  of  their  way,  making  more  signs  of  the  cross 
than  if  the  devil  had  been  posting  after  them. 

Don  Quixote,  as  I  said,  was  all  that  while  engaged 
with  the  lady  in  the  coach.  "  Lady,"  cried  he, 
"  your  discretion  is  now  at  liberty  to  dispose  of  your 
beautiful  self  as  you  please ;  for  the  presumptuous 
arrogance  of  those  who  attempted  to  enslave  your 
person  lies  prostrate  in  the  dust,  overthrown  by 
this  my  strenuous  arm :  and  that  you  may  not  be 
at  a  loss  for  the  name  of  your  deliverer,  know  I  am 
called  Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha,  by  profession  a 
knight-errant  and  adventurer,  captive  to  that  peer- 
less beauty  Donna  Dulcinea  del  Toboso:  nor  do  I 
desire  any  other  recompense  for  the  service  I  have 
done  you,  but  that  you  return  to  Toboso  to  present 
yourselves  to  that  lady,  and  let  her  know  what  I 
have  done  to  purchase  your  deliverance."  To  this 


04  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

strange  talk,  a  certain  Biscayan,  the  lady's  squire, 
gentleman-usher,  or  what  you  will  please  to  call 
him,  who  rode  along  with  the  coach,  listened  with 
great  attention  ;  and  perceiving  that  Don  Quixote 
not  only  stopped  the  coach,  but  would  have  it  pre- 
sently go  back  to  Toboso,  he  bore  briskly  up  to  him, 
and  laying  hold  of  his  lance,  "  Get  gone,"  cried  he 
to  him  in  bad  Spanish  and  worse  Biscayan.*  "  Get 
gone,  thou  knight,  and  devil  go  with  thou ;  or  by 
he  who  me  create,  if  thou  do  not  leave  the  coach, 
me  kill  thee  now  so  sure  as  me  be  a  Biscayan." 
Don  Quixote,  who  made  shift  to  understand  him 
well  enough,  very  calmly  made  him  this  answer : 
"  Wert  thou  a  cavalier,f  as  thou  art  not,  ere  this  I 
would  have  chastised  thy  insolence  and  temerity, 
thou  inconsiderable  mortal."  "  What !  me  no  gen- 
tleman ?  "  replied  the  Biscayan  ;  "  I  swear  thou  be 
a  liar,  as  me  be  Christian.  If  thou  throw  away 
lance,  and  draw  sword,  me  will  make  no  more  of 
thee  than  cat  does  of  mouse ;  me  will  show  thee 
me  be  Biscayan,  and  gentleman  by  land,  gentleman 
by  sea,  gentleman  in  spite  of  devil ;  and  thou  lie  if 
thou  say  contrary."  "  I'll  try  titles  with  you,  as  the 
man  said,"  replied  Don  Quixote ;  and  with  that, 
throwing  away  his  lance,  he  drew  his  sword,  grasped 
his  target,  and  attacked  the  Biscayan,  fully  bent  on 
his  destruction.  The  Biscayan  seeing  him  come 

*  The  Biscayners  generally  speak  broken  Spanish,  wherefore 
the  English  is  rendered  accordingly. 

f  Cavallero  in  Spanish  signifies  a  gentleman  as  well  as  a 
knight;  and  used  in  these  different  senses  by  the  knight-errant 
and  the  gentleman-usher,  causes  the  difference  between  Don 
Quixote  and  the  Biscayner. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  85 

on  so  furiously,  would  gladly  have  alighted,  not 
trusting  to  his  mule,  which  was  one  of  those  scurvy 
jades  that  are  let  out  to  hire  ;  but  all  he  had  time 
to  -do  was  only  to  draw  his  sword,  and  snatch  a 
cushion  out  of  the  coach  to  serve  him  instead  of  a 
shield ;  and  immediately  they  assaulted  one  another 
with  all  the  fury  of  mortal  enemies.  The  by-stand- 
ers  did  all  they  could  to  prevent  their  fighting ;  but 
it  was  in  vain,  for  the  Biscayan  swore  in  his  gibber- 
ish he  would  kill  his  very  lady,  and  all  those  who 
presumed  to  hinder  him,  if  they  would  not  let  him 
fight.  The  lady  in  the  coach  being  extremely  af- 
frighted at  these  passages,  made  her  coachman 
drive  out  of  harm's  way,  and  at  a  distance  was  an 
eye-witness  of  the  furious  combat.  At  the  same 
time  the  Biscayan  let  fall  such  a  mighty  blow  on 
Don  Quixote's  shoulder  over  his  target,  that  had  not 
his  armor  been  sword-proof,  he  would  have  cleft 
him  down  to  the  very  waist.  The  knight  feeling 
the  weight,  of  that  unmeasurable  blow,  cried  out 
aloud,  "  Oh !  lady  of  my  soul,  Dulcinea !  flower  of 
all  beauty,  vouchsafe  to  succor  your  champion  in 
this  dangerous  combat,  undertaken  to  set  forth  your 
worth  ! "  The  breathing  out  of  this  short  prayer, 
the  griping  fast  of  his  sword,  the  covering  of  him- 
self with  his  shield,  and  the  charging  of  his  enemy, 
was  but  the  work  of  a  moment ;  for  Don  Quixote 
was  resolved  to  venture  the  fortune  of  the  combat 
all  upon  one  blow.  The  Biscayan,  who  read  his 
design  in  his  dreadful  countenance,  resolved  to  face 
him  with  equal  bravery,  and  stand  the  terrible 
shock,  with  uplifted  sword,  and  covered  with  the 
cushion,  not  being  able  to  manage  his  jaded  mule, 


86  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

who,  defying  the  spur,  and  not  being  cut  out  for 
such  pranks,  would  move  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 
the  left.  While  Don  Quixote,  with  his  sword  aloft, 
was  rushing  upon  the  wary  Biscayan,  with  a  full 
resolution  to  cleave  him  asunder,  all  the  spectators 
stood  trembling  with  terror  and  amazement,  expect- 
ing the  dreadful  event  of  those  prodigious  blows 
which  threatened  the  two  desperate  combatants ; 
the  lady  in  the  coach,  with  her  women,  were  mak- 
ing a  thousand  vows  and  offerings  to  all  the  images 
and  places  of  devotion  in  Spain,  that  Providence 
might  deliver  them  and  the  squire  out  of  the  great 
danger  that  threatened  them. 

But  here  we  must  deplore  the  abrupt  end  of  this 
history,  which  the  author  leaves  off  just  at  the  very 
point  when  the  fortune  of  the  battle  is  going  to  be 
decided,  pretending  he  could  find  nothing  more  re- 
corded of  Don  Quixote's  wondrous  achievements, 
than  what  he  had  already  related.  However,  the 
second  undertaker  of  this  work  could  not  believe 
that  so  curious  a  history  could  lie  forever  inevita- 
bly buried  in  oblivion ;  or  that  the  learned  of  La 
Mancha  were  so  regardless  of  their  country's  glory, 
as  not  to  preserve  in  their  archives,  or  at  least  in 
their  closets,  some  memoirs,  as  monuments  of  this 
famous  knight;  and  therefore  he  would  not  give 
over  inquiring  after  the  continuation  of  this  pleasant 
history,  till  at  last  he  happily  found  it,  as  the  next 
Book  will  inform  the  reader. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  87 


PART  I.    BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   EVENT   OF   THE    MOST   STUPENDOUS   COMBAT   BETWEEN 
THE  BRAVE  BISCAYAN  AND  THE  VALOROUS  DON  QUIXOTE. 

IN  the  First  Book  of  this  history,  we  left  the  va- 
liant Biscayan  and  the  renowned  Don  Quixote  with 
their  swords  lifted  up,  and  ready  to  discharge  on 
each  other  two  furious  and  most  terrible  blows, 
which,  had  they  fallen  directly,  and  met  with  no 
opposition,  would  have  cut  and  divided  the  two 
combatants  from  head  to  heel,  and  have  split  them 
like  a  pomegranate ;  but,  as  I  said  before,  the  story 
remained  imperfect ;  neither  did  the  author  inform 
us  where  we  might  find  the  remaining  part  of  the 
relation.  This  vexed  me  extremely,  and  turned  the 
pleasure,  which  the  perusal  of  the  beginning  had 
afforded  me,  into  disgust,  when  I  had  reason  to 
despair  of  ever  seeing  the  rest.  Yet,  after  all,  it 
seemed  to  me  no  less  impossible  than  unjust,  that 
so  valiant  a  knight  should  have  been  destitute  of 
some  learned  person  to  record  his  incomparable  ex- 
ploits ;  a  misfortune  which  never  attended  any  of 
his  predecessors,  I  mean  the  knights-adventurers, 
each  of  whom  was  always  provided  with  one  or 
two  learned  men,  who  were  always  at  hand  to  write 
not  only  their  wondrous  deeds,  but  also  to  set  down 
their  thoughts  and  childish  petty  actions,  were  they 


88  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

never  so  hidden.  Therefore,  as  I  could  not  imagine 
that  so  worthy  a  knight  should  be  so  unfortunate, 
as  to  want  that  which  has  been  so  profusely  lavish- 
ed even  on  such  a  one  as  Platyr,*  and  others  of 
that  stamp ;  I  could  not  induce  myself  to  believe, 
that  so  admirable  a  history  was  ever  left  unfinished, 
and  rather  choose  to  think  that  time,  the  devourer 
of  all  things,  had  hid  or  consumed  it.  On  the 
other  side,  when  I  considered  that  several  modern 
books  were  found  in  his  study,  as  the  Cure  of  Jea- 
lousy, and  the  Nymphs  and  Shepherds  of  Heriares,f 
I  had  reason  to  think  that  the  history  of  our  knight 
could  be  of  no  very  ancient  date ;  and  that,  had  it 
never  been  continued,  yet  his  neighbors  and  friends 
could  not  have  forgot  the  most  remarkable  passages 
of  his  life.  Full  of  this  imagination,  I  resolved  to 
make  it  my  business  to  make  a  particular  and  ex- 
act inquiry  into  the  life  and  miracles  of  our  re- 
nowned Spaniard  Don  Quixote,  that  refulgent  glory 
and  mirror  of  the  knighthood  of  La  Mancha,  and 
the  first  who,  in  these  depraved  and  miserable 
times,  devoted  himself  to  the  neglected  profession 
of  knight-errantry,  to  redress  wrongs  and  injuries,  to 
relieve  widows,  and  defend  the  honor  of  damsels ; 
such  of  them,  I  mean,  who  in  former  ages  rode  up 
and  down  over  hills  and  dales  with  whip  in  hand, 
mounted  on  their  palfreys,  with  all  their  virginity 
about  them,  secure  from  all  manner  of  danger,  and 
who,  unless  they  happened  to  be  ravished  by  some 

*  A  second-rate  knight  in  Palmerin  of  England. 

f  Henares  runs  by  the  university  of  Alcale  (i.  e.  Complutum) 
in  Old  Castile,  and  therefore  much  celebrated  by  Spanish  poets 
bred  in  that  university.  They  call  it  Henarius  in  Latin. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  89 

boisterous  villain  or  huge  giant,  were  sure,  at  four 
score  years  of  age,  (all  which  time  they  never  slept 
one  night  under  a  roof,)  to  be  decently  laid  in  their 
graves,  as  pure  virgins  as  the  mothers  that  bore 
them.  For  this  reason  and  many  others,  I  say,  our 
gallant  Don  Quixote  is  worthy  everlasting  and  uni- 
versal praise;  nor  ought  I  to  be  denied  my  due 
commendation  for  my  indefatigable  care  and  dili- 
gence, in  seeking  and  finding  out  the  continuation 
of  this  delightful  history  ;  though,  after  all,  I  must 
confess,  that  had  not  Providence,  chance,  or  fortune, 
as  I  will  not  inform  you,  assisted  me  in  the  disco- 
very, the  world  had  been  deprived  of  two  hours' 
diversion  and  pleasure,  which  it  is  likely  to  afford 
to  those  who  will  read  it  with  attention.  One  day 
being  in  the  *Alcana  at  Toledo,  I  saw  a  young  lad 
offer  to  sell  a  parcel  of  old  written  papers  to  a 
shopkeeper.  Now  I,  being  apt  to  take  up  the  least 
piece  of  written  or  printed  papers  that  lies  in  my 
way,  though  it  were  in  the  middle  of  the  street, 
I  could  not  forbear  laying  my  hands  on  one  of  the 
manuscripts,  to  see  what  it  was,  and  I  found  it  to 
be  written  in  Arabic,  which  I  could  not  read.  This 
made  me  look  about  to  see  whether  I  could  find 
e'er  a  Morisco  f  that  understood  Spanish,  to  read  it 
for  me,  and  give,  me  some  account  of  it ;  nor  was  it 
very  difficult  to  meet  with  an  interpreter  there  ;  for 
had  I  wanted  one  for  a  better  and  more  ancient 
tongue,  J  that  place  would  have  infallibly  supplied 


*  An  exchange ;  a  place  full  of  shops. 

f  Morisco  is  one  of  the  race  of  the  Moors. 

J  Meaning  some  Jew,  to  interpret  the  Hebrew  or  Chaldee. 


90  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

me.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  find  one  immedi- 
ately; and  having  informed  him  of  my  desire,  he 
no  sooner  read  some  lines,  but  he  began  to  laugh. 
I  asked  him  what  he  laughed  at?  "At  a  certain 
remark  here  in  the  margin  of  the  book,"  said  he. 
I  prayed  him  to  explain  it ;  whereupon  still  laugh- 
ing, he  did  it  in  these  words :  "  This  Dulcinea  del 
Toboso,  so  often  mentioned  in  this  history,  is  said 
to  have  had  the  best  hand  at  salting  pork  of  any 
woman  in  all  La  Mancha."  I  was  surprised  when 
I  heard  him  name  Dulcinea  del  Toboso,  and  pre- 
sently imagined  that  those  old  papers  contained  the 
history  of  Don  Quixote.  This  made  me  press  him 
to  read  the  title  of  the  book  ;  which  he  did,  turning 
it  thus  extemporary  out  of  Arabic :  THE  HISTORY 
OF  DON  QUIXOTE  DE  LA  MANCHA  ;  WRITTEN  BY 
CID  HAMET  BENENGELI,  AN  ARABIAN  HISTORIO- 
GRAPHER. I  was  so  overjoyed  when  I  heard  the 
title,  that  I  had  much  ado  to  conceal  it ;  and  pre- 
sently taking  the  bargain  out  of  the  shopkeeper's 
hand,  I  agreed  with  the  young  man  for  the  whole, 
and  bought  that  for  half  a  real,  which  he  might 
.have  sold  me  for  twenty  times  as  much,  had  he  but 
guessed  at  the  eagerness  of  his  chapman.  I  imme- 
diately withdrew  with  my  purchase  to  the  cloister 
of  the  great  church,  taking  the  Moor  with  me  ;  and 
desired  him  to  translate  me  those  papers  that  treated 
of  Don  Quixote,  without  adding  or  omitting  the 
least  word,  offering  him  any  reasonable  satisfaction. 
He  asked  me  but  two  *  arrobes  of  raisins,  and  two 
bushels  of  wheat,  and  promised  me  to  do  it  faith- 

*  An  arroba  is  about  32  Ib.  weight. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  91 

fully  with  all  expedition ;  in  short,  for  the  quicker 
despatch,  and  the  greater  security,  being  unwilling 
to  let  such  a  lucky  prize  go  out  of  my  hands,  I  took 
the  Moor  to  my  own  house,  where,  in  less  than  six 
weeks,  he, finished  the  whole  translation. 

Don  Quixote's  fight  with  the  Biscayan  was  ex- 
actly drawn  on  one  of  the  leaves  of  the  first  quire, 
in  the  same  posture  as  we  left  them,  with  their 
swords  lifted  up  over  their  heads,  the  one  guarding 
himself  with  his  shield,  the  other  with  his  cushion. 
The  Biscayan's  mule  was  pictured  so  to  the  life, 
that  with  half  an  eye  you  might  have  known  it  to 
be  an  hired  mule.  Under  the  Biscayan  was  writ- 
ten Don  Sancho  de  Aspetia,  and  under  Rozinante 
Don  Quixote.  Rozinante  was  so  admirably  deli- 
neated, so  slim,  so  stiff,  so  lean,  so  jaded,  with  so 
sharp  a  ridge-bone,  and  altogether  so  like  one 
wasted  with  an  incurable  consumption,  that  any 
one  must  have  owned  at  first  sight,  that  no  horse 
ever  better  deserved  that  name.  Not  far  off  stood 
Sancho  *  Panza  holding  his  ass  by  the  halter ;  at 
whose  feet  there  was  a  scroll  in  which  was  written 
Sancho  f  Canzas  ;  and  if  we  may  judge  of  him  by 
his  picture,  he  was  thick  and  short,  paunch-bellied, 
and  long-haunched  ;  so  that  in  all  likelihood  for  this 
reason  he  is  sometimes  called  Panza  and  sometimes 
Canza,  in  the  history.  There  were  some  other 
niceties  to  be  seen  in  that  piece,  but  hardly  worth 
observation,  as  not  giving  any  light  into  this  true 
history,  otherwise  they  had  not  passed  unmention- 
ed ;  for  none  can  be  amiss  so  they  be  authentic.  I 

*  Paunch.  f  Haunches,  or  thigh-bones. 


92  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

must  only  acquaint  the  reader,  that  if  any  objection 
is  to  be  made  as  to  the  veracity  of  this,  it  is  only 
the  author  is  an  Arabian,  and  those  of  that  country 
are  not  a  little  addicted  to  lying ;  but  yet,  if  we  con- 
sider that  they  are  our  enemies,  we  should  sooner 
imagine  that  the  author  has  rather  suppressed  the 
truth,  than  added  to  the  real  worth  of  our  knight ; 
and  I  am  the  more  inclinable  to  think  so,  because  it 
is  plain,  that  where  he  ought  to  have  enlarged  on  his 
praises,  he  maliciously  chooses  to  be  silent;  a  pro- 
ceeding unworthy  of  an  historian,  who  ought  to  be 
exact,  sincere,  and  impartial ;  free  from  passion,  and 
not  to  be  biased  either  by  interest,  fear,  resent- 
ment, or  affection,  to  deviate  from  truth,  which  is 
the  mother  of  history,  the  preserver  and  eternizer 
of  great  actions,  the  professed  enemy  of  oblivion, 
the  witness  of  things  past,  and  the  director  of  future 
times.  As  for  this  history,  I  know  it  will  afford 
you  as  great  a  variety  as  you  could  wish,  in  the 
most  entertaining  manner;  and  if  in  any  point  it 
falls  short  of  your  expectation,  I  am  of  opinion  it 
is  more  the  fault  of  the  infidel  its  author,  than  the 
subject;  and  so  let  us  come  to  the  Second  Book, 
which,  according  to  our  translation,  began  in  this 
manner. 

Such  were  the  bold  and  formidable  looks  of  the 
two  enraged  combatants,  that  with  uplifted  arms, 
and  with  destructive  steel,  they  seemed  to  threaten 
heaven,  earth,  and  the  infernal  mansions ;  while  the 
spectators  seemed  wholly  lost  in  fear  and  astonish- 
ment. The  choleric  Biscayan  discharged  the  first 
blow,  and  that  with  such  a  force,  and  so  desperate 
a  fury,  that  had  not  his  sword  turned  in  his  hand, 


DON   QUIXOTE.  93 

that  single  stroke  had  put  an  end  to  the  dreadful 
combat,  and  all  our  knight's  adventures.  But  fate, 
that  reserved  him  for  greater  things,  so  ordered  it, 
that  his  enemy's  sword  turned  in  such  a  manner, 
that  though  it  struck  him  on  the  left  shoulder,  it 
did  him  no  other  hurt  than  to  disarm  that  side  of 
his  head,  carrying  away  with  it  a  great  part  of  his 
helmet  and  one  half  of  his  ear,  which  like  a  dread- 
ful ruin  fell  together  to  the  ground.  Assist  me,  ye 

powers  ! but  it  is  in  vain  :  the  fury  which  then 

engrossed  the  breast  of  our  hero  of  La  Mancha  is 
not  to  be  expressed ;  words  would  but  wrong  it ; 
for  what  color  of  speech  can  be  lively  enough  to 
give  but  a  slight  sketch  or  faint  image  of  his  unut- 
terable rage  ?  Exerting  all  his  valor,  he  raised  him- 
self upon  his  stirrups,  and  seemed  even  greater  than 
himself;  and  at  the  same  instant  griping  his  sword 
fast  with  both  hands,  he  discharged  such  a  tremen- 
dous blow  full  on  the  Biscayan's  cushion  and  his 
head,  that  in  spite  of  so  good  a  defence,  as  if  a 
whole  mountain  had  fallen  upon  him,  the  blood 
gushed  out  at  his  mouth,  nose,  and  ears,  all  at 
once;  and  he  tottered  so  in  his  saddle,  that  he  had 
fallen  to  the  ground  immediately,  had  he  not  caught 
hold  of  the  neck  of  his  mule;  but  the  dull  beast 
itself  being  roused  out  of  its  stupidity  with  that 
terrible  blow,  began  to  run  about  the  fields ;  and 
the  Biscayan,  having  lost  his  stirrups  and  his  hold, 
with  two  or  three  winces  the  mule  shook  him  off, 
and  threw  him  on  the  ground.  Don  Quixote  be- 
held the  disaster  of  his  foe  with  the  greatest  tran- 
quillity and  unconcern  imaginable  ;  and  seeing  him 
down,  slipped  nimbly  from  his  saddle,  and  running 


94  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

to  him,  set  the  point  of  his  sword  to  his  throat,  and 
bid  him  yield,  or  he  would  cut  off  his  head.  The 
Biscayan  was  so  stunned,  that  he  could  make  him 
no  reply  ;  and  Don  Quixote  had  certainly  made 
good  his  threats,  so  provoked  was  he,  had  not  the 
ladies  in  the  £oach,  who  with  great  uneasiness  and 
fear  beheld  the  sad  transactions,  hastened  to  be- 
seech Don  Quixote  very  earnestly  to  spare  his  life. 
"  Truly,  beautiful  ladies,"  said  the  victorious  knight, 
with  a  great  deal  of  loftiness  and  gravity,  "  I  am 
willing  to  grant  your  request ;  but  upon  condition 
that  this  same  knight  shall  pass  his  word  of  honor 
to  go  to  Toboso,  and  there  present  himself  in  my 
name  before  the  peerless  lady  Donna  Dulcinea,  that 
she  may  dispose  of  him  as  she  shall  see  convenient." 
The  lady,  who  was  frightened  almost  out  of  her 
senses,  without  considering  what  Don  Quixote  en- 
joined, or  inquiring  who  the  lady  Dulcinea  was, 
promised,  in  her  squire's  behalf,  a  punctual  obedi- 
ence to  the  knight's  commands.  "  Let  him  live, 
then,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  upon  your  word,  and 
owe  to  your  intercession  that  pardon  which  I  might 
justly  deny  his  arrogance." 


DON  QUIXOTE.  95 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHAT  FARTHER  BEFELL  DON  QUIXOTE  WITH  THE  BIS- 
CAYAN ;  AND  OF  THE  DANGER  HE  RAN  AMONG  A  PARCEL 
OF  YANGUESIAN8. 

SANCHO  PANZA  was  got  up  again  before  this,  not 
much  better  for  the  kicks  and  thumps  bestowed  on 
his  carcass  by  the  monks'  grooms ;  and  seeing  his 
master  engaged  in  fight,  he  went  devoutly  to  pray- 
ers, beseeching  heaven  to  grant  him  victory,  that 
he  might  now  win  some  island,  in  order  to  his  being 
made  governor  of  it,  according  to  his  promise.  At 
last,  perceiving  the  danger  was  over,  the  combat  at 
an  end,  and  his  master  ready  to  mount  again,  he 
ran  in  all  haste  to  help  him  ;  but  ere  the  knight  put 
his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  Sancho  fell  on  his  knees  be- 
fore him,  and,  kissing  his  hand,  "An't  please  your 
worship,"  cried  he,  "  my  good  lord  Don  Quixote,  I 
beseech  you  make  me  governor  of  the  island  you 
have  won  in  this  dreadful  and  bloody  fight ;  for 
though  it  were  never  so  great,  I  find  myself  able  to 
govern  it  as  well  as  the  best  he  that  ever  went  about 
to  govern  an  island  in  the  world."  "  Brother  San- 
cho," replied  Don  Quixote,  "  these  are  no  adven- 
tures of  islands ;  these  are  only  rencounters  on  the 
road,  where  little  is  to  be  got  besides  a  broken  head 
or  the  loss  of  an  ear ;  therefore  have  patience,  and 
some  adventure  will  offer  itself,  which  will  not  only 
enable  me  to  prefer  thee  to  a  government,  but  even 
to  something  more  considerable."  Sancho  gave 
him  a  world  of  thanks ;  and  having  once  more 


96 

kissed  his  hand,  and  the  skirts  of  his  coat  of  armor, 
he  helped  him  to  get  upon  Rozinante ;  and  then 
leaping  on  his  ass,  he  followed  the  hero,  who,  with- 
out taking  leave  of  those  in  the  coach,  put  on  a 
good  round  pace,  and  rode  into  a  wood  that  was 
not  far  off.  Sancho  made  after  him  as  fast  as  his 
ass  would  trot ;  but  finding  Rozinante  was  like  to 
leave  him  behind,  he  was  forced  to  call  to  his  mas- 
ter to  stay  for  him.  Don  Quixote  accordingly 
checked  his  horse,  and  soon  gave  Sancho  leisure  to 
overtake  him. 

"  Methinks,  sir,"  said  the  fearful  squire,  as  soon 
as  he  came  up  with  him,  "it  won't  be  amiss  for  us  to 
betake  ourselves  to  some  church,  to  get  out  of  harm's 
way ;  for  if  that  same  man  whom  you  have  fought 
with  should  do  otherwise  than  well,  I  dare  lay  my 
life  they  will  get  a  warrant  from  the  holy  brother- 
hood, and  have  us  taken  up ;  which  if  they  do,  on 
my  word  it  will  go  hard  with  us  ere  we  can  get  out 
of  their  clutches."  "  Hold  thy  tongue,"  cried  Don 
Quixote :  where  didst  thou  ever  read,  or  find  that 
a  knight-errant  was  ever  brought  before  any  judge 
for  the  homicides  which  he  committed  ?  "  "I  can't 
tell  what  you  mean  by  your  homilies,"  replied  San- 
cho ;  "  I  do  not  know  that  ever  I  saw  one  in  my 
born  days,  not  I :  but  well  I  wot,  that  the  law  lays 
hold  on  those  that  goes  to  murder  one  another  in 
the  fields  ;  and  for  your  what  d'ye  call  them's,  I've 
nothing  to  say  to  them."  "  Then  be  not  afraid, 
good  Sancho,"  cried  Don  Quixote ;  "  for  I  would 
deliver  thee  out  of  the  hands  of  the  Chaldeans,  and 
with  much  more  ease  out  of  those  of  the  holy  bro- 
therhood. But  come,  tell  me  truly  dost  thou  believe 


DON  QUIXOTE.  97 

that  the  whole  world  can  boast  of  another  knight 
that  may  pretend  to  rival  me  in  valor  ?  didst  thou 
ever  read  in  history,  that  any  other  ever  showed 
more  resolution  to  undertake,  more  vigor  to  attack, 
more  breath  to  hold  out,  more  dexterity  and  acti- 
vity to  strike,  and  more  art  and  force  to  overthrow 
his  enemies  ?  "  "  Not  I,  by  my  troth,"  replied  San- 
cho,  "  I  never  did  meet  with  any  thing  like  you  in 
history,  for  I  can  neither  read  nor  write ;  but  that 
which  I  dare  wager  is,  that  I  never  in  my  life  serv- 
ed a  bolder  master  than  your  worship :  pray  hea- 
ven this  same  boldness  may  not  bring  us  to  what  I 
bid  you  beware  of.  All  I  have  to  put  you  in  mind 
of  now  is,  that  you  get  your  ear  dressed,  for  you 
lose  a  deal  of  blood  ;  and  by  good  luck  I  have  here 
some  lint  and  a  little  white  salve  in  my  wallet." 
"  How  needless  would  all  this  have  been,"  cried 
Don  Quixote,  "  had  I  but  bethought  myself  of  mak- 
ing a  small  bottle-full  of  the  balsam  of  Fierabras, 
a  single  drop  of  which  would  have  spared  us  a  great 
deal  of  time  and  medicaments."  "  What  is  that 
same  balsam,  an't  please  you  ?  "  cried  Sancho.  "A 
balsam,"  answered  Don  Quixote,  "  of  which  I  have 
the  receipt  in  my  head.  He  that  has  some  of  it 
may  defy  death  itself,  and  dally  with  all  manner  of 
wounds  :  therefore  when  I  have  made  some  of  it, 
and  given  it  thee,  if  at  any  time  thou  happenest  to 
see  my  body  cut  in  two  by  some  unlucky  back- 
stroke, as  'tis  common  among  us  knights-errant, 
thou  hast  no  more  to  do  but  to  take  up  nicely  that 
half  of  me  which  is  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  clap  it 
exactly  to  the  other  half  on  the  saddle  before  the 
blood  is  congealed,  always  taking  care  to  lay  it  just 
VOL.  i.  7 


98  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

in  its  proper  place ;  then  thou  shalt  give  me  two 
draughts  of  that  balsam,  and  thou  shalt  immediately 
see  rne  become  whole,  and  sound  as  an  apple."  "  If 
this  be  true,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  I  will  quit  you  of  your 
promise  about  the  island  this  minute  of  an  hour,  and 
will  have  nothing  of  your  worship  for  what  service 
I  have  done,  and  am  to  do  you,  but  the  receipt  of 
that  same  balsam ;  for,  I  dare  say,  let  me  go  wher- 
ever 1  will,  it  will  be  sure  to  yield  me  three  good  reals 
an  ounce ;  and  thus  I  shall  make  shift  to  pick  a 
pretty  good  livelihood  out  of  it.  But  stay  though," 
continued  he,  "  does  the  making  stand  your  worship 
in  much,  sir?"  "  Three  quarts  of  it,"  replied  Don 
Quixote,  "  may  be  made  for  three  reals."  "  Body 
of  me,"  cried  Sancho, "  why  do  you  not  make  some 
out  of  hand,  and  teach  me  how  to  make  it  ?"  "  Say 
no  more,  friend  Sancho,"  returned  Don  Quixote ; 
"  I  intend  to  teach  thee  much  greater  secrets,  and 
design  thee  nobler  rewards;  but  in  the  mean  time 
dress  my  ear,  for  it  pains  me  more  than  I  could 
wish."  Sancho  then  took  his  lint  and  ointment  out 
of  his  wallet;  but  when  Don  Quixote  perceived  the 
vizor  of  his  helmet  was  broken,  he  had  like  to  have 
run  stark  staring  mad  ;  straight  laying  hold  on  his 
sword,  and  lifting  up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  "  By  the 
great  Creator  of  the  universe,"  cried  he,  "  by  every 
syllable  contained  in  the  four  holy  evangelists,  I 
swear  to  lead  a  life  like  the  great  Marquis  of  Man- 
tua, when  he  made  a  vow  to  revenge  the  death 
of  his  cousin  Baldwin,  which  was  never  to  eat 
bread  on  a  table-qloth,  never  to  lie  with  the  dear  part- 
ner of  his  bed,  and  other  things,  which,  though  they 
are  now  at  present  slipped  out  of  rny  memory,  I 


DON    QUIXOTE.  99 

comprise  in  my  vow  no  less  than  if  I  had  now  men- 
tioned them ;  and  this  I  bind  myself  to,  till  I  have 
fully  revenged  myself  on  him  that  has  done  me 
this  injury." 

"  Good  your  worship,"  cried  Sancho,  (amazed  to 
hear  him  take  such  a  horrid  oath)  "  think  on  what 
you  are  doing;  for  if  that  same  knight  has  done  as 
you  bid  him,  and  has  gone  and  cast  himself  before 
my  lady  Dulcinea  del  Toboso,  I  do  not  see  but  you 
and  he  are  quit;  and  the  man  deserves  no  further 
punishment,  unless  he  does  you  some  new  mischief." 
"'Tis  well  observed,"  replied  Don  Quixote;  "  and 
therefore  as  to  the  point  of  revenge,  I  revoke  my 
oath ;  but  I  renew  and  confirm  the  rest,  protesting 
solemnly  to  lead  the  life  I  mentioned,  till  I  have  by 
force  of  arms  despoiled  some  knight  of  as  good  a 
helmet  as  mine  was.  Neither  do  thou  fancy,  San- 
cho, that  I  make  this  protestation  lightly,  or  make 
a  smoke  of  straw  :  no,  I  have  a  laudable  prece- 
dent for  it,  the  authority  of  which  will  sufficiently 
justify  my  imitation  ;  for  the  very  same  thing  hap- 
pened about  Mambrino's  helmet,  which  cost  Sacri- 
pante  so  dear."  "Good  sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "let 
all  such  cursing  and  swearing  go  to  the  devil; 
there's  nothing  can  be  worse  for  your  soul's  health, 
nay  for  your  bodily  health  neither.  Besides,  sup- 
pose we  should  not  this  good  while  meet  any  one 
with  a  helmet  on,  what  a  sad  case  should  we  then 
be  in  ?  will  your  worship  then  keep  your  oath  in 
spite  of  so  many  hardships,  such  as  to  lie  rough  for 
a  month  together,  far  from  any  inhabited  place,  and 
a  thousand  other  idle  penances  which  that  mad  old 
Marquis  of  Mantua  punished  himself  with  by  his 


100  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

vow  ?  Do  but  consider,  that  we  may  ride  I  do  not 
know  how  long  upon  this  road  without  meeting 
any  armed  knight  to  pick  a  quarrel  with ;  for  here 
are  none  but  carriers  and  wagoners,  who  are  so  far 
from  wearing  any  helmets,  that  it  is  ten  to  one 
whether  they  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  their 
lives."  "  Thou  art  mistaken,  friend  Sancho,"  replied 
Don  Quixote ;  "  for  we  shall  not  be  two  hours  this 
way  without  meeting  more  men  in  arms  than  there 
were  at  the  siege  of  Albraca,  to  carry  off  the  fair 
Angelica."  "  Well  then,  let  it  be  so,"  quoth  San- 
cho ;  "  and  may  we  have  the  luck  to  come  off  well, 
and  quickly  win  that  island  which  costs  me  so  dear, 
and  then  I  do  not  matter  what  befalls  me."  "  I 
have  already  bid  thee  not  trouble  thyself  about  this 
business,  Sancho,"  said  Don  Quixote ;  "  for  should 
we  miss  of  an  island,  there  is  either  the  kingdom  of 
Denmark,  or  that  of  Sobradisa,*  as  fit  for  thy  pur- 
pose as  a  ring  for  thy  finger ;  and,  what  ought  to 
be  no  small  comfort  to  thee,  they  are  both  upon 
Terra  firma.^  But  we'll  talk  of  this  in  its  proper 
season  :  at  this  time  I  would  have  thee  see  whether 
thou  hast  any  thing  to  eat  in  thy  wallet,  that  we 
may  afterwards  seek  for  some  castle,  where  we  may 
lodge  this  night,  and  make  the  balsam  I  told  thee ; 
for  I  protest  my  ear  smarts  extremely."  "  I  have 
here  an  onion,"  replied  the  squire,  "  a  piece  of  cheese, 
and  a  few  stale  crusts  of  bread  ;  but  sure  such  coarse 
fare  is  not  for  such  a  brave  knight  as  your  worship." 

*  A  fictitious  kingdom,  in  Amadis  de  Gaul, 
f  In  allusion  to  the  famous  Firm  Island,  in  Amadis  de  Gaulj 
the  land  of  promise  to  the  faithful  squires  of  knights-errant. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  101 

"  Thou  art  grossly  mistaken,  friend  Sancho,"  an- 
swered Don  Quixote  ;  "  know,  that  it  is  the  glory  of 
knights-errant  to  be  whole  months  without  eating , 
and  when  they  do,  they  fall  upon  the  first  thing  they 
meet  with,  though  it  be  never  so  homely.  Hadst  thou 
but  read  as  many  books  as  I  have  done,  thou  hadst 
been  better  informed  as  to  that  point ;  for  though  I 
think  I  have  read  as  many  histories  of  chivalry  in 
my  time  as  any  other  man,  I  never  could  find  that 
the  knights-errant  ever  eat,  unless  it  were  by  mere  ac- 
cident, or  when  they  were  invited  to  great  feasts  and 
royal  banquets ;  at  other  times  they  indulged  them- 
selves with  little  other  food  besides  their  thoughts. 
Though  it  is  not  to  be  imagined  they  could  live 
without  supplying  the  exigencies  of  human  nature, 
as  being  after  all  no  more  than  mortal  men,  yet  it 
is  likewise  to  be  supposed,  that  as  they  spent  the 
greatest  part  of  their  lives  in  forests  and  deserts, 
and  always  destitute  of  a  cook,  consequently  their 
usual  food  was  but  such  coarse  country  fare  as  thou 
now  offerest  me.  Never  then  make  thyself  uneasy 
about  what  pleases  me,  friend  Sancho,  nor  pretend 
to  make  a  new  world,  nor  to  unhinge  the  very  con- 
stitution and  ancient  customs  of  knight-errantry." 

"  I  beg  your  worship's  pardon,"  cried  Sancho ; 
"for  as  I  was  never  bred  a  scholar,  I  may  chance  to 
have  missed  in  some  main  point  of  your  laws  of 
knighthood ;  but  from  this  time  forward  I  will  be 
sure  to  stock  my  wallet  with  all  sorts  of  3ry  fruits 
for  you,  because  your  worship  is  a  knight;  as  for 
myself,  who  am  none,  i  will  provide  good  poultry, 
and  other  substantial  victuals."  "  I  do  not  say, 
Sancho,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  that  a  knight-er- 


102  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

rant  is  obliged  to  feed  altogether  upon  fruit ;  I  only 
mean,  that  this  was  their  common  food,  together 
with  some  roots  and  herbs,  which  they  found  up 
and  down  the  fields,  of  all  which  they  had  a  perfect 
Knowledge  as  I  myself  have."  u'Tis  a  good  thing 
to  know  those  herbs,"  cried  Sancho,  "  for  I  am  much 
mistaken,  or  that  kind  of  knowledge  will  stand  us 
in  good  stead  ere  long.  In  the  mean  time,"  conti- 
nued he,  "  here's  what  good  heaven  has  sent  us." 
With  that  he  pulled  out  the  provision  he  had,  and 
they  fell  to  heartily  together.  But  their  impatience 
to  find  out  a  place  where  they  might  be  harbored 
that  night,  made  them  shorten  their  sorry  meal,  and 
mount  again,  for  fear  of  being  benighted  ;  so  away 
they  put  on  in  search  of  a  lodging.  But  the  sun 
and  their  hopes  failed  them  at  once,  as  they  came 
to  a  place  where  some  goat-herds  had  set  up  some 
small  huts;  and  therefore  they  concluded  to  take 
up  their  lodging  there  that  night.  This  was  a 
great  mortification  to  Sancho,  who  was  altogether 
for  a  good  town,  as  it  was  a  pleasure  to  his  master, 
who  was  for  sleeping  in  the  open  fields,  as  believing, 
that  as  often  as  he  did  it,  he  confirmed  his  title  to 
knighthood  by  a  new  act  of  possession. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  103 


CHAPTER  III. 

WHAT  PASSED  BETWEEN   DON   QUIXOTE   AND   THE   GOAT- 
HERDS. 

THE  knight  was  very  courteously  received  by  the 
goat-herds ;  and  as  for  Sancho,  after  he  had  set  up 
Rozinante  and  his  ass  as  well  as  he  could,  he  pre- 
sently repaired  to  the  attractive  smell  of  some 
pieces  of  kid's  flesh  which  stood  boiling  in  a  kettle 
over  the  fire.  The  hungry  squire  would  immedi- 
ately have  tried  whether  they  were  fit  to  be  removed 
out  of  the  kettle  into  the  stomach,  but  was  not  put 
to  that  trouble ;  for  the  goat-herds  took  them  off 
the  fire  and  spread  some  sheep-skins  on  the  ground, 
and  soon  got  their  rural  feast  ready  ;  and  cheerfully 
invited  his  master  and  him  to  partake  of  what  they 
had.  Next,  with  some  coarse  compliment,  after  the 
country  way,  they  desired  Don  Quixote  to  sit  down 
on  a  trough  with  the  bottom  upwards ;  and  then 
six  of  them,  who  were  all  that  belonged  to  that  fold, 
squatted  them  down  round  the  skins,  while  Sancho 
stood  to  wait  upon  his  master,  and  gave  him  drink 
in  a  horn  cup,  which  the  goat-herds  used.  But  he 
seeing  his  man  stand  behind,  said  to  him,  "  That 
thou  mayest  understand,  Sancho,  the  benefits  of 
knight-errantry,  and  how  the  meanest  retainers  to 
it  have  a  fair  prospect  of  being  speedily  esteemed 
and  honored  by  the  world,  it  is  my  pleasure  that 
thou  sit  thee  down  by  me,  in  the  company  of  these 
good  people ;  and  that  there  be  no  difference  now 
observed  between  thee  and  me,  thy  natural  lord  and 


104  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

master ;  that  thou  eat  in  the  same  dish,  and  drink 
in  the  same  cup;  for  it  may  be  said  of  knight-er- 
rantry as  of  love,  that  it  makes  all  things  equal." 
"  I  thank  your  worship,"  cried  Sancho  ;  "  but  yet  I 
must  needs  own,  had  I  but  a  good  deal  of  meat  be- 
fore me,  I'd  eat  it  as  well,  or  rather  better,  standing, 
and  by  myself,  than  if  I  sat  by  an  emperor;  and,  to 
deal  plainly  and  truly  with  you,  I  had  rather  munch 
a  crust  of  brown  bread  and  an  onion  in  a  -corner, 
without  any  more  ado  or  ceremony,  than  feed  upon 
turkey  at  another  man's  table,  where  one  is  fain  to 
sit  mincing  and  chewing  his  meat  an  hour  together, 
drink  little,  be  always  wiping  his  fingers  and  his 
chops,  and  never  dare  to  cough  nor  sneeze,  though  he 
has  never  so  much  a  mind  to  it,  nor  do  a  many  things 
which  a  body  may  do  freely  by  one's  self;  there- 
fore, good  sir,  change  those  tokens  of  your  kindness 
which  I  have  a  right  to  by  being  your  worship's 
squire,  into  something  that  may  do  me  more  good. 
As  for  these  same  honors,  I  heartily  thank  you  as 
much  as  if  I  had  accepted  them,  but  yet  I  give  up 
my  right  to  them  from  this  time  to  the  world's  end." 
"  Talk  no  more,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  but  sit 
thee  down,  for  the  humble  shall  be  exalted;"  and 
so  pulling  him  by  the  arms,  he  forced  him  to  sit  by 
him. 

All  this  while  the  goat-herds,  who  did  not  under- 
stand this  jargon  of  knFghts-errant,  chivalry,  and 
squires,  fed  heartily,  and  said  nothing,  but  stared 
upon  their  guests,  who  very  fairly  swallowed  whole 
luncheons  as  big  as  their  fists  with  a  mighty  appe- 
tite. The  first  course  being  over,  they  brought  in 
the  second,  consisting  of  dried  acorns,  and  half  a 


DON   QUIXOTE.  105 

cheese  as  hard  as  a  brick ;  nor  was  the  horn  idle  all 
the  while,  but  went  merrily  round,  up  and  down  so 
many  times,  sometimes  full,  and  sometimes  empty; 
like  the  two  buckets  of  a  well,  that  they  made  shift 
at  last  to  drink  off  one  of  the  two  skins  of  wine 
which  they  had  there.  And  now  Don  Quixote  hav- 
ing satisfied  his  appetite,  he  took  a  handful  of 
acorns,  and  looking  earnestly  upon  them,  "  O  happy 
age,"  cried  he,  "  which  our  first  parents  called  the 
age  of  gold !  not  because  gold,  so  much  adored  in 
this  iron  age,  wras  then  easily  purchased,  but  because 
those  two  fatal  words,  mine  and  thine,  were  distinc- 
tions unknown  to  the  people  of  those  fortunate 
times ;  for  all  things  were  in  common  in  that  holy 
age :  men,  for  their  sustenance,  needed  only  to  lift 
their  hands,  and  take  it  from  the  sturdy  oak,  whose 
spreading  arms  liberally  invited  them  to  gather  the 
wholesome  savory  fruit ;  while  the  clear  springs, 
and  silver  rivulets,  with  luxuriant  plenty,  offered 
them  their  pure  refreshing  water.  In  hollow  trees, 
and  in  the  clefts  of  rocks,  the  laboring  and  indus- 
trious bees  erected  their  little  commonwealths,  that 
men  might  reap  with  pleasure  and  with  ease  the 
sweet  and  fertile  harvest  of  their  toils.  The  tough 
and  strenuous  cork-trees  did  of  themselves,  and 
without  other  art  than  their  native  liberality,  dis- 
miss and  impart  their  broad  light  bark,  which  served 
to  cover  those  lowly  huts,  propped  up  with  rough- 
hewn  stakes,  that  were  first  built  as  a  shelter  against 
the  inclemencies  of  the  air:  all  then  was  union,  all 
peace,  all  love  and  friendship  in  the  world :  as  yet 
no  rude  ploughshare  presumed  with  violence  to  pry 
into  the  pious  bowels  of  our  mother  Earth,  for  she, 


106  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

without  compulsion,  kindly  yielded  from  every  part 
of  her  fruitful  and  spacious  bosom,  whatever  might 
at  once  satisfy,  sustain,  and  indulge,  her  frugal 
children.  Then  was  the  time  when  innocent,  beau- 
tiful young  shepherdesses  went  tripping  over  the 
hills  and  vales  :  their  lovely  hair  sometimes  plaited, 
sometimes  loose  and  flowing,  clad  in  no  other  vest- 
ment but  what  was  necessary  to  cover  decently 
what  modesty  would  always  have  concealed :  the 
Tyrian  die,  and  the  rich  glossy  hue  of  silk,  mar- 
tyred and  dissembled  into  every  color,  which  are 
now  esteemed  so  fine  and  magnificent,  were  un- 
known to  the  innocent  plainness  of  that  age  ;  yet, 
bedecked  with  more  becoming  leaves  and  flowers, 
they  may  be  said  to  outshine  the  proudest  of  the 
vain-dressing  ladies  of  our  age,  arrayed  in  the  most 
magnificent  garbs  and  all  the  most  sumptuous 
adornings  which  idleness  and  luxury  have  taught 
succeeding  pride  :  lovers  then  expressed  the  passion 
of  their  souls  in  the  unaffected  language  of  the 
heart,  with  the  native  plainness  and  sincerity  in 
which  they  were  conceived,  and  divested  of  all  that 
artificial  contexture  which  enervates  what  it  labors 
to  enforce :  imposture,  deceit,  and  malice,  had  not 
yet  crept  in,  and  imposed  themselves  unbribed  upon 
mankind,  in  the  disguise  of  truth  and  simplicity  : 
justice,  unbiased  either  by  favor  or  interest,  which 
now  so  fatally  pervert  it,  was  equally  and  impar- 
tially dispensed  ;  nor  was  the  judge's  fancy  law,  for 
then  there  were  neither  judges,  nor  causes  to  be 
judged;  the  modest  maid  might  walk  wherever 
she  pleased  alone,  free  from  the  attacks  of  lewd, 
lascivious  importuners.  But  in  this  degenerate  age, 


DON  QUIXOTE.  107 

fraud  and  a  legion  of  ills  infecting  the  world,  no 
virtue  can  be  safe,  no  honor  be  secure ;  while  wan- 
ton desires,  diffused  in  the  hearts  of  men,  corrupt 
the  strictest  watches,  and  the  closest  retreats ; 
which,  though  as  intricate  and  unknown  as  the 
labyrinth  of  Crete,  are  no  security  for  chastity. 
Thus  that  primitive  innocence  being  vanished,  and 
oppression  daily  prevailing,  there  was  a  necessity 
to  oppose  the  torrent  of  violence  :  for  which  reason 
the  order  of  knighthood-errant  was  instituted,  to 
defend  the  honor  of  virgins,  protect  widows,  relieve 
orphans,  and  assist  all  the  distressed  in  general. 
Now  I  myself  am  one  of  this  order,  honest  friends ; 
and  though  all  people  are  obliged,  by  the  law  of 
nature,  to  be  kind  to  persons  of  my  order ;  yet 
since  you,  without  knowing  any  thing  of  this  obli- 
gation, have  so  generously  entertained  me,  I  ought 
to  pay  you  my  utmost  acknowledgment;  and,  ac- 
cordingly return  you  my  most  hearty  thanks  for  the 
same." 

All  this  long  oration,  which  might  very  well  have 
been  spared,  was  owing  to  the  acorns  that  recalled 
the  golden  age  to  our  knight's  remembrance,  and 
made  him  thus  hold  forth  to  the  goat-herds,  who 
devoutly  listened,  but  edified  little,  the  discourse 
not  being  suited  to  their  capacities.  Sancho,  as 
well  as  they,  was  silent  all  the  while,  eating  acorns, 
and  frequently  visiting  the  second  skin  of  wine, 
which  for  coolness  sake  was  hung  upon  a  neigh- 
boring cork-tree.  As  for  Don  Quixote,  he  was 
longer,  and  more  intent  upon  his  speech,  than  upon 
supper.  When  he  had  done,  one  of  the  goat-herds 
addressing  himself  to  him,  "  Sir  knight,"  said  he, 


108  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

"  that  you  may  be  sure  you  are  heartily  welcome, 
we  will  get  one  of  our  fellows  to  give  us  a  song; 
he  is  just  a-coming ;  a  good  notable  young  lad  he 
is,  I  will  say  that  for  him,  and  up  to  the  ears  in 
love.  He  is  a  scholard,  and  can  read  and  write ; 
and  plays  so  rarely  upon  the  rebeck,*  that  it  is  a 
charm  but  to  hear  him."  No  sooner  were  the  words 
out  of  the  goat-herd's  mouth,  but  they  heard  the 
sound  of  the  instrument  he  spoke  of,  and  presently 
appeared  a  good  comely  young  man  of  about  two- 
and-twenty  years  of  age.  The  goat-herds  asked 
him  if  he  had  supped  ?  and  he  having  told  them  he 
had,  "  Then,  dear  Antonio,"  says  the  first  speaker, 
"  pray  thee  sing  us  a  song,  to  let  this  gentleman,  our 
guest,  see  that  we  have  those  among  us  who  know 
somewhat  of  music,  for  all  we  live  amidst  woods 
and  mountains.  We  have  told  him  of  thee  already ; 
therefore,  pray  thee  make  our  words  good,  and  sing 
us  the  ditty  thy  uncle  the  prebendary  made  of  thy 
love,  that  was  so  liked  in  our  town."  "  With  all 
my  heart,"  replied  Antonio ;  and  so  without  any 
further  entreaty,  sitting  down  on  the  stump  of  an 
oak,  he  tuned  his  fiddle,  and  very  handsomely  sung 
the  following  song. 

ANTONIO'S  AMOROUS  COMPLAINT. 

Though  love  ne'er  prattles  at  your  eyes, 
(The  eyes,  those  silent  tongues  of  love,) 

Yet  sure,  Olalia,  you're  my  prize  : 

For  truth,  with  zeal,  even  heaven  can  move. 

I  think,  my  love,  you  only  try, 

Even  while  I  fear  you've  sealed  my  doom : 

*  A  fiddle,  with  only  three  strings,  used  by  shepherds. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  109 

So,  though  involved  in  doubts  I  lie, 

Hope  sometimes  glimmers  through  the  gloom. 
A  flame  so  fierce,  so  bright,  so  pure, 

No  scorn  can  quench,  or  art  improve : 
Thus  like  a  martyr  I  endure ; 

For  there's  a  heaven  to  crown  my  love. 
In  dress  and  dancing  I  have  strove 

My  proudest  rivals  to  outvie  ; 
In  serenades  I've  breathed  my  love, 

When  all  things  slept  but  love  and  I. 
I  need  not  add,  I  speak  your  praise 

Till  every  nymph's  disdain  I  move ; 
Though  thus  a  thousand  foes  I  raise, 

'Tis  sweet  to  praise  the  fair  I  love. 
Teresa  once  your  charms  debased, 

But  I  her  rudeness  soon  reproved : 
In  vain  her  friend  my  anger  faced ; 

For  then  I  fought  for  her  I  loved. 
Dear  cruel  fair,  why  then  so  coy  ? 

How  can  you  so  much  love  withstand  ? 
Alas !  I  crave  no  lawless  joy, 

But  with  my  heart  would  give  my  hand. 
Soft,  easy,  strong  is  Hymen's  tie : 

Oh !  then  no  more  the  bliss  refuse. 
Oh !  wed  me,  or  I  swear  to  die, 

Or  linger  wretched  and  recluse. 

Here  Antonio  ended  his  song;  Don  Quixote 
entreated  him  to  sing  another,  but  Sancho  Panza, 
who  had  more  mind  to  sleep  than  to  hear  the  finest 
singing  in  the  world,  told  his  master,  there  is 
enough.  "  Good  sir,"  quoth  he,  "  your  worship 
had  better  go  and  lie  down  where  you  are  to  take 
your  rest  this  night ;  besides,  these  good  people  are 
tired  with  their  day's  labor,  and  rather  want  to  go 
to  sleep,  than  to  sit  up  all  night  to  hear  ballads." 
"I  understand  thee,  Sancho,"  cried  Don  Quixote; 


110  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

"  and  indeed  I  thought  thy  frequent  visiting  the  bot- 
tle would  make  thee  fonder  of  sleep  than  of  music." 
"  Make  us  thankful,"  cried  Sancho,  "  we  all  liked 
the  wine  well  enough."  "  I  do  not  deny  it,"  replied 
Don  Quixote ;  but  go  thou  and  lay  thee  down 
where  thou  pleasest :  as  for  me,  it  better  becomes  a 
man  of  my  profession  to  wake  than  to  sleep :  yet 
stay  and  dress  my  ear  before  thou  goest,  for  it 
pains  me  extremely."  Thereupon  one  of  the  goat- 
herds beholding  the  wound,  as  Sancho  offered  to 
dress  it,  desired  the  knight  not  to  trouble  himself, 
for  he  had  a  remedy  that  would  quickly  cure  him ; 
and  then  fetching  a  few  rosemary  leaves,  which 
grew  in  great  plenty  thereabout,  he  bruised  them, 
and  mixed  a  little  salt  among  them,  and  having 
applied  the  medicine  to  the  ear,  he  bound  it  up, 
assuring  him,  he  needed  no  other  remedy ;  which  in 
a  little  time  proved  very  true. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  STOKY  WHICH    A    YOUNG    GOAT-HEED   TOLD   TO   THOSE 
THAT   WERE   WITH   DON   QUIXOTE. 

A  young  fellow,  who  used  to  bring  them  provi- 
sions from  the  next  village,  happened  to  come  while 
this  was  doing,  and  addressing  himself  to  the  goat- 
herds, "Hark,  ye,  friends,"  said  he,  "d'ye  hear  the 
news  ?  "  "  What  news  ?  "  cried  one  of  the  company. 
"  That  fine  shepherd  and  scholar  Chrysostome,  died 
this  morning,"  answered  the  other ;  "  and  they  say 
it  was  for  love  of  that  devilish  untoward  lass,  Mar- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  Ill 

cella,  rich  William's  daughter,  that  goes  up  and 
down  the  country  in  the  habit  of  a  shepherdess." 
"  For  Marcella !  "  cried  one  of  the  goat-herds.  "  I 
say  for  her,"  replied  the  fellow,  "  and  what  is  more, 
it  is  reported,  he  has  ordered  by  his  will,  they 
should  bury  him  in  the  fields  like  any  heathen  Moor, 
just  at  the  foot  of  the  rock,  hard  by  the  cork-tree 
fountain,  where  they  say  he  had  the  first  sight  of 
her.  Nay,  he  has  likewise  ordered  many  other 
strange  things  to  be  done,  which  the  heads  of  the 
parish  won't  allow  of,  for  they  seem  to  be  after  the 
way  of  the  Pagans.  But  Ambrose,  the  other  scholar, 
who  likewise  apparelled  himself  like  a  shepherd,  is 
resolved  to  have  his  friend  Chrysostome's  will  ful- 
filled in  every  thing,  just  as  he  has  ordered  it.  All 
the  village  is  in  an  uproar.  But  after  all,  it  is 
thought  Ambrose  and  his  friends  will  carry  the  day ; 
and  to-morrow  morning  he  is  to  be  buried  in  great 
state  where  I  told  you:  I  fancy  it  will  be  worth 
seeing;  howsoever,  be  it  what  it  will,  I  will  even  go 
and  see  it,  even  though  I  could  not  get  back  again 
to-morrow."  "  We  will  all  go,"  cried  the  goat- 
herds, "  and  cast  lots  who  shall  tarry  to  look  after 
the  goats."  "  Well  said,  Peter,"  cried  one  of  the 
goat-herds  ;  "  but  as  for  casting  of  lots,  I  will  save 
you  that  labor,  for  I  will  stay  myself,  not  so  much 
out  of  kindness  to  you  neither,  or  want  of  curiosity, 
as  because  of  the  thorn  in  my  toe,  that  will  not  let 
me  go."  "  Thank  you,  however,"  quoth  Peter. 
Don  Quixote,  who  heard  all  this,  entreated  Peter 
to  tell  him  who  the  deceased  was,  and  also  to  give 
him  a  short  account  of  the  shepherdess. 

Peter  made  answer,  that  all  he  knew  of  the  mat- 


112  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

ter  was,  that  the  deceased  was  a  wealthy  gentleman 
who  lived  not  far  off;  that  he  had  been  several 
years  at  the  university  of  Salamanca,  and  then  came 
home  mightily  improved  in  his  learning.  "  But 
above  all,"  quoth  he,  "  it  was  said  of  him,  that  he 
had  great  knowledge  in  the  stars,  and  whatsoever- 
the  sun  and  moon  do  in  the  skies,  for  he  would  tell 
us  to  a  tittle  the  clip  of  the  sun  and  moon."  "We 
call  it  an  eclipse,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  and  not  a 
clip,  when  either  of  those  two  great  luminaries  are 
darkened."  "He  would  also,"  continued  Peter, 
who  did  not  stand  upon  such  nice  distinctions, 
" foretell  when  the  year  would  be  plentiful  or  estil" 
"  You  would  say  steril"  cried  Don  Quixote. 
"  Steril  or  estil"  replied  the  fellow,  "  that  is  all  one 
to  me :  but  this  I  say,  that  his  parents  and  friends, 
being  ruled  by  him,  grew  woundy  rich  in  a  short 
time;  for  he  would  tell  them,  This  year  sow  barley, 
and  no  wheat :  in  this  you  may  sow  pease,  and  no 
barley :  next  year  will  be  a  good  year  for  oil :  the 
three  after  that,  you  shan't  gather  a  drop  ;  and 
whatsoever 'he  said  would  certainly  come  to  pass." 
"  That  science,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  is  called  astro- 
logy." "  I  do  not  know  what  you  call  it,"  answer- 
ed Peter,  "  but  I  know  he  knew  all  this,  and  a  deal 
more.  But  in  short,  within  some  few  months  after 
he  had  left  the  versity,  on  a  certain  morning  we 
saw  him  come  dressed  for  all  the  world  like  a 
shepherd,  and  driving  his  flock,  having  laid  down 
the  long  gown,  which  he  used  to  wear  as  a  scholar. 
At  the  same  time  one  Ambrose,  a  great  friend  of 
his,  who  had  been  his  fellow  scholar,  also  took 
upon  him  to  go  like  a  shepherd,  and  keep  him  com- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  113 

pany,  which  we  all  did  not  a  little  marvel  at.  I 
had  almost  forgot  to  tell  you  how  he  that  is  dead 
was  a  mighty  man  for  making  of  verses,  insomuch 
that  he  commonly  made  the  carols  which  we  sung 
in  Christmas  Eve,  and  the  plays  which  the  young 
lads  in  our  neighborhood  enacted  on  Corpus  Christi 
day  ;  and  every  one  would  say,  that  nobody  could 
mend  them.  Somewhat  before  that  time,  Chrysos- 
tome's  father  died,  and  left  him  a  deal  of  wealth, 
both  in  land,  money,  cattle,  and  other  goods, 
whereof  the  young  man  remained  dissolute  mas- 
ter; and  in  troth  he  deserved  it  all,  for  he  was  as 
good-natured  a  soul  as  e'er  trod  on  shoe  of  leather ; 
mighty  good  to  the  poor,  a  main  friend  to  all  honest 
people,  and  had  a  face  like  a  blessing.  At  last  it 
came  to  be  known,  that  the  reason  of  his  altering 
his  garb  in  that  fashion,  was  only  that  he  might  go 
up  and  down  after  that  shepherdess  Marcella,  whom 
oar  comrade  told  you  of  before,  for  he  was  fallen 
mightily  in  love  with  her.  And  now  I  will  tell  you 
such  a  thing  you  never  heard  the  like  in  your  born 
days,  and  may  not  chance  to  hear  of  such  another 
while  you  breathe,  though  you  were  to  live  as  long 
as  Sarnah."  "  Say  Sarah,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  who 
hated  to  hear  him  blunder  thus.  "  The  Sarna,  or 
the  itch,  for  that  is  all  one  with  us,"  quoth  Peter, 
"lives  long  enough  too  ;  but  if  you  go  on  thus,  and 
make  me  break  off  my  tale  at  every  word,  we  are 
not  like  to  have  done  this  twelvemonth."  "  Par- 
don me,  friend,"  replied  Don  Quixote ;  "  I  only 
spoke  to  make  thee  understand  that  there  is  a  dif- 
ference between  Sarna  and  Sarah :  however,  thou 
sayest  well ;  for  the  Sarna  (that  is,  the  itch.)  lives 
VOL.  r.  8 


114  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

longer  than  Sarah  ;  therefore  pray  make  an  end  of 
thy  story,  for  I  will  not  interrupt  thee  any  more." 

"  Well  then,"  quoth  Peter,  "  you  must  know, 
good  master  of  mine,  that  there  lived  near  us  one 
William,  a  yeoman,  who  was  richer  yet  than  Chry- 
sostome's  father ;  now  he  had  no  child  in  the  versal 
world  but  a  daughter  ;  her  mother  died  in  child-bed 
of  her,  (rest  her  soul,)  and  was  as  good  a  woman  as 
ever  went  upon  two  legs :  rnethinks  I  see  her  yet, 
standing  afore  me,  with  that  blessed  face  of  her's, 
the  sun  on  one  side,  and  the  moon  on  the  t'other. 
She  was  a  main  housewife,  and  did  a  deal  of  good 
among  the  poor ;  for  which  I  dare  say  she  is  at  this 
minute  in  paradise.  Alas !  her  death  broke  old 
William's  heart ;  he  soon  went  after  her,  poor  man, 
and  left  all  to  his  little  daughter,  that  Marcella  by 
name,  giving  charge  of  her  to  her  uncle,  the  parson 
of  our  parish.  Well,  the  girl  grew  such  a  fine  child, 
and  so  like  her  mother,  that  it  used  to  put  us  in 
mind  of  her  every  foot :  however,  'twas  thought 
she'd  make  a  finer  woman  yet :  and  so  it  happened 
indeed ;  for,  by  that  time  she  was  fourteen  or  fifteen 
years  of  age,  no  man  set  his  eyes  on  her,  that  did 
not  bless  heaven  for  having  made  her  so  handsome ; 
so  that  most  men  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  were 
ready  to  run  mad  for  her.  All  this  while  her  uncle 
kept  her  up  very  close :  yet  the  report  of  her  great 
beauty  and  wealth  spread  far  and  near,  insomuch, 
that  she  had  I  don't  know  how  many  sweethearts, 
almost  all  the  young  men  in  our  town  asked  her  of 
her  uncle;  nay,  from  I  don't  know  how  many 
leagues  about  us,  there  flocked  whole  droves  of 
suitors,  and  the  very  best  in  the  country  too,  who 


DON   QUIXOTE.  115 

all  begged,  and  sued,  and  teased  her  uncle  to  let 
them  have  her.  But  though  he'd  have  been  glad  to 
have  got  fairly  rid  of  her,  as  soon  as  she  was  fit  for 
a  husband,  yet  would  not  he  advise  or  marry  her 
against  her  will ;  for  he's  a  good  man,  I'll  say  that 
for  him,  and  a  true  Christian  every  inch  of  him, 
and  scorns  to  keep  her  from  marrying  to  make  a 
benefit  of  her  estate ;  and,  to  his  praise  be  it  spoken, 
he  has  been  mainly  commended  for  it  more  than 
once,  when  the  people  of  our  parish  meet  together. 
For  I  must  tell  you,  Sir  Errant,  that  here  in  the 
country,  and  in  our  little  towns,  there  is  not  the 
least  thing  can  be  said  or  done,  but  people  will  talk 
and  find  fault:  but  let  busy-bodies  prate  as  they 
please,  the  parson  must  have  a  good  body  indeed, 
who  could  bring  his  whole  parish  to  give  him  a  good 
word,  especially  in  the  country."  "  Thou  art  in  the 
right,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  and  therefore  go  on, 
honest  Peter,  for  the  story  is  pleasant,  and  thou 
tellest  it  with  a  grace."  "  May  I  never  want  God's 
grace,"  quoth  Peter,  "  for  that  is  most  to  the  pur- 
pose. But  for  our  parson,  as  I  told  you  before,  he 
was  not  for  keeping  his  niece  from  marrying,  and 
therefore  he  took  care  to  let  her  know  of  all  those 
that  would  have  taken  her  to  wife,  both  what  they 
were,  and  what  they  had,  and  he  was  at  her,  to 
have  her  pitch  upon  one  of  them  for  a  husband ; 
yet  would  she  never  answer  otherwise,  but  that  she 
had  no  mind  to  wed  as  yet,  as  finding  herself  too 
young  for  the  burden  of  wedlock.  With  these  and 
such  like  come-offs,  she  got  her  uncle  to  let  her 
alone,  and  wait  till  she  thought  fit  to  choose  for 
herself:  for  he  was  won't  to  say,  that  parents  are 


116  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

not  to  bestow  their  children  where  they  bear  no 
liking ;  and  in  that  he  spoke  like  an  honest  man. 
And  thus  it  happened,  that  when  we  least  dreamed 
of  it,  that  coy  lass,  finding  herself  at  liberty,  would 
needs  turn  shepherdess  ;  and  neither  her  uncle,  nor 
all  those  of  the  village  who  advised  her  against  it, 
could  work  any  thing  upon  her,  but  away  she  went 
to  the  fields  to  keep  her  own  sheep  with  the  other 
young  lasses  of  the  town.  But  then  it  was  ten  times 
worse ;  for  no  sooner  was  she  seen  abroad,  when  I 
cannot  tell  how  many  spruce  gallants,  both  gentle- 
men and  rich  farmers,  changed  their  garb  for  love 
of  her,  and  followed  her  up  and  down  in  shepherd's 
guise.  One  of  them,  as  I  have  told  you,  was  this 
same  Chrysostorne,  who  now  lies  dead,  of  whom 
it  is  said,  he  not  only  loved,  but  worshipped  her. 
Howsoever,  I  would  not  have  you  think  or  surmise, 
because  Marcella  took  that  course  of  life,  and  was 
as  it  were  under  no  manner  of  keeping,  that  she 
gave  the  least  token  of  naughtiness  or  light  beha- 
vior ;  for  she  ever  was,  and  is  still  so  coy,  and  so 
watchful  to  keep  her  honor  pure  and  free  from  evil 
tongues,  that  among  so  many  wooers  who  suitor 
her,  there  is  not  one  can  make  his  brags  of  having 
the  least  hope  of  ever  speeding  with  her.  For  though 
she  does  not  shun  the  company  of  shepherds,  but 
uses  them  courteously,  so  far  as  they  behave  them- 
selves handsomely;  yet  whensoever  any  one  of 
them  does  but  offer  to  break  his  mind  to  her,  be  it 
never  so  well  meant,  and  only  in  order  to  marry, 
she  casts  him  away  from  her,  as  with  a  sling,  and 
will  never  have  any  more  to  say  to  him. 

"  And  thus  this  fair  maiden  does  more  harm  in 


DON  QUIXOTE.  117 

this  country,  than  the  plague  would  do;  for  her 
courteousness  and  fair  looks  draw  on  every  body  to 
love  her;  but  then  her  dogged  stubborn  coyness 
breaks  their  hearts,  and  makes  them  ready  to  hang 
themselves ;  and  all  they  can  do,  poor  wretches,  is 
to  make  a  heavy  complaint,  and  call  her  cruel,  un- 
kind, ungrateful,  and  a  world  of  such  names,  where- 
by they  plainly  show  what  a  sad  condition  they  are 
in :  were  you  but  to  stay  here  some  time,  you'd 
hear  these  hills  and  valleys  ring  again  with  the 
doleful  moans  of  those  she  has  denied,  who  yet  can- 
not, for  the  blood  of  them,  give  over  sneaking  after 
her.  "We  have  a  place  not  far  off,  where  there  are 
some  two  dozen  of  beech  trees,  and  on  them  all 
you  may  find  I  don't  know  how  many  Marcellas 
cut  in  the  smooth  bark.  On  some  of  them  there  is 
a  crown  carved  over  the  name,  as  much  as  to  say 
that  Marcella  bears  away  the  crown,  and  deserves 
the  garland  of  beauty.  Here  sighs  one  shepherd, 
there  another  whines ;  here  is  one  singing  doleful 
ditties,  there  another  is  wringing  his  hands,  and 
making  woful  complaints.  You  shall  have  one  lay 
him  down  at  night  at  the  foot  of  a  rock,  or  some 
oak,  and  there  lie  weeping  and  wailing  without  a 
wink  of  sleep,  and  talking  to  himself  till  the  sun 
finds  him  the  next  morning;  you  shall  have  another 
lie  stretched  upon  the  hot  sandy  ground,  breathing 
his  sad  lamentations  to  heaven,  without  heeding 
the  sultry  heat  of  the  summer  sun.  And  all  this 
whilo  the  hard-hearted  Marcella  ne'er  minds  any 
one  of  them,  and  does  not  seem  to  be  the  least  con- 
cerned for  them.  We  are  all  mightily  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  will  be  the  end  of  all  this  pride  and 


118  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

coyness,  who  shall  be  the  happy  man  that  shall  at 
last  tame  her,  and  bring  her  to  his  lure.  Now  be- 
cause there  is  nothing  more  certain  than  all  this,  I 
am  the  more  apt  to  give  credit  to  what  our  comrade 
has  told  us,  as  to  the  occasion  of  Chrysostome's 
death  ;  and  therefore  I  would  needs  have  you  go 
and  see  him  laid  in  his  grave  to-morrow ;  which  I 
believe  will  be  worth  your  while,  for  he  had  many 
friends,  and  it  is  not  half  a  league  to  the  place 
where  it  was  his  will  to  be  buried."  "  I  intend  to 
be  there,"  answered  Don  Quixote,  "  and  in  the 
mean  time  I  return  thee  many  thanks  for  the  extra- 
ordinary satisfaction  this  story  has  afforded  me." 
"  Alas  !  Sir  Knight,"  replied  the  goat-herd,  "  I  have 
not  told  you  half  the  mischiefs  this  proud  creature 
hath  done  here,  but  to-morrow  mayhap  we  shall 
meet  some  shepherd  by  the  way  that  will  be  able 
to  tell  you  more.  Meanwhile  it  won't  be  amiss  for 
you  to  take  your  rest  in  one  of  the  huts ;  for  the 
open  air  is  not  good  for  your  wound,  though  what 
I've  put  to  it  is  so  special  a  medicine,  that  there's 
not  much  need  to  fear  but  'twill  do  well  enough." 
Sancho,  who  was  quite  out  of  patience  with  the 
goat-herd's  long  story,  and  wished  him  at  the  devil 
for  his  pains,  at  last  prevailed  with  him  to  lie  down 
in  Peter's  hut,  where  Don  Quixote,  in  imitation  of 
Marcella's  lovers,  devoted  the  remainder  of  the 

7  4 

night  to  amorous  expostulations  with  his  dear  Dul- 
cinea.  As  for  Sancho,  he  laid  himself  down  be- 
tween Rozinante  and  his  ass,  and  slept  it  out,  not 
like  a  disconsolate  lover,  but  like  a  man  that  had 
been  soundly  kicked  and  bruised  in  the  morning. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  119 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  CONTINUATION  OF   THE   STORY  OF   MARCELLA. 

SCARCE  had  day  begun  to  appear  from  the  balco- 
nies of  the  east,  when  five  of  the  goat-herds  got 
up,  and  having  waked  Don  Quixote,  asked  him  if 
he  held  his  resolution  of  going  to  the  funeral,  whi- 
ther they  were  ready  to  bear  him  company.  There- 
upon the  knight,  who  desired  nothing  more,  pre- 
sently arose,  and  ordered  Sancho  to  get  Rozinante 
and  the  ass  ready  immediately  ;  which  he  did  with 
all  expedition,  and  then  they  set  forwards.  They 
had  not  gone  yet  a  quarter  of  a  league,  before  they 
saw  advancing  towards  them,  out  of  a  cross  path, 
six  shepherds  clad  in  black  skins,  their  heads  crown- 
ed with  garlands  of  cypress  and  bitter  rose-bay  tree, 
with  long  holly-staves  in  their  hands.  Two  gentle- 
men on  horseback,  attended  by  three  young  lads 
on  foot,  came  immediately  after  them:  as  they  drew 
near,  they  saluted  one  another  civilly,  and  after  the 
usual  question,  "  Which  way  d'ye  travel  ?  "  they 
found  they  were  all  going  the  same  way,  to  see  the 
funeral ;  and  so  they  all  joined  company.  "  I  fancy, 
Senior  Vivaldo,"  said  one  of  the  gentlemen,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  the  other,  "  we  shall  not  think 
our  time  misspent  in  going  to  see  this  famous  fune- 
ral, for  it  must  of  necessity  be  very  extraordinary, 
according  to  the  account  which  these  men  have 
given  us  of  the  dead  shepherd  and  his  murdering 
mistress."  "  I  am  so  far  of  your  opinion,"  answer- 


THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

ed  Vivaldo,  "  that  I  would  not  stay  one  day,  but  a 
whole  week,  rather  than  miss  the  sight."  This  gave 
Don  Quixote  occasion  to  ask  them  what  they  had 
heard  concerning  Chrysostome  and  Marcella  ?  One 
of  the  gentlemen  made  answer,  That  having  met 
that  morning  with  these  shepherds,  they  could  not 
forbear  inquiring  of  them,  why  they  wore  such  a 
mournful  dress  ?  whereupon  one  of  them  acquaint- 
ed them  with  the  sad  occasion,  by  relating  the  story 
of  a  certain  shepherdess,  named  Marcella,  no  less 
lovely  than  cruel,  whose  coyness  and  disdain  had 
made  a  world  of  unfortunate  lovers,  and  caused  the 
death  of  that  Chrysostome,  to  whose  funeral  they 
were  going.  In  short,  he  repeated  to  Don  Quixote 
all  that  Peter  had  told  him  the  night  before.  After 
this,  Vivaldo  asked  the  knight  why  he  travelled  so 
completely  armed  in  so  peaceable  a  country  ?  "  My 
profession,"  answered  the  champion,  "  does  not 
permit  me  to  ride  otherwise.  Luxurious  feasts, 
sumptuous  dresses,  and  downy  ease,  were  invented 
for  effeminate  courtiers ;  but  labor,  vigilance,  and 
arms,  are  the  portion  of  those  whom  the  world  calls 
knights-errant,  of  which  number  I  have  the  honor 
to  be  one,  though  the  most  unworthy,  and  the  mean- 
est of  the  fraternity."  He  needed  to  say  no  more 
to  satisfy  them  his  brains  were  out  of  order;  how- 
ever, that  they  might  the  better  understand  the 
nature  of  his  folly,  Vivaldo  asked  him  what  he 
meant  by  a  knight-errant  ?  "  Have  you  not  read, 
then,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  the  Annals  and  History 
of  Britain,  where  are  recorded  the  famous  deeds  of 
King  Arthur,  who,  according  to  an  ancient  tradition 
in  that  kingdom,  never  died,  but  was  turned  into 


DON   QUIXOTE.  121 

a  crow  by  enchantment,  and  shall  one  day  resume 
his  former  shape,  and  recover  his  kingdom  again  ? 
For  which  reason,  since  that  time,  the  people  of 
Great  Britain  dare  not  offer  to  kill  a  crow.  In  this 
good  king's  time,  the  most  noble  order  of  the 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table  was  first  instituted, 
and  then  also  the  amours  between  Sir  Lancelot  of 
the  Lake  and  Queen  Guinever  were  really  trans- 
acted, as  that  history  relates ;  they  being  managed 
and  carried  on  by  the  mediation  of  that  honorable 
matron  the  Lady  Quintaniona.  Which  produced 
that  excellent  history  in  verse  so  sung  and  celebrated 
here  in  Spain  — 

"  There  never  was  on  earth  a  knight 

So  waited  on  by  ladies  fair, 
As  once  was  he  Sir  Lancelot  hight, 
When  first  he  left  his  country  dear." 

And  the  rest,  which  gives  so  delightful  an  account 
both  of  his  loves  and  feats  of  arms.  From  that 
time  the  order  of  knight-errantry  began  by  degrees 
to  dilate  and  extend  itself  into  most  parts  of  the 
world.  Then  did  the  great  Amadis  de  Gaul  sig- 
nalize himself  by  heroic  exploits,  and  so  did  his 
offspring  to  the  fifth  generation.  The  valorous 
Felixmart  of  Hyrcania  then  got  immortal  fame,  and 
that  undaunted  knight  Tirante  the  White,  who 
never  can  be  applauded  to  his  worth.  Nay,  had 
we  but  lived  a  little  sooner,  we  might  have  been 
blessed  with  the  conversation  of  that  invincible 
Knight  of  our  modern  times,  the  valorous  Don  Be- 
lianis  of  Greece.  And  this,  gentlemen,  is  that  order 
of  chivalry,  which,  as  much  a  sinner  as  I  am,  I  pro- 


123  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

fess,  with  a  due  observance  of  the  laws  which  those 
brave  knights  observed  before  me ;  and  for  that 
reason  I  choose  to  wander  through  these  solitary 
deserts,  seeking  adventures,  fully  resolved  to  expose 
my  person  to  the  most  formidable  dangers  which 
fortune  can  obtrude  on  me,  that  by  the  strength  of 
my  arm  I  may  relieve  the  weak  and  the  distressed." 

After  all  this  stuff,  you  may  be  sure  the  travellers 
were  sufficiently  convinced  of  Don  Quixote's  frenzy. 
Nor  were  they  less  surprised  than  were  all  those 
who  had  hitherto  discovered  so  unaccountable  a 
distraction  in  one  who  seemed  a  rational  creature. 
However,  Vivaldo,  who  was  of  a  gay  disposition, 
had  no  sooner  made  the.  discovery,  but  he  resolved 
to  make  the  best  advantage  of  it,  that  the  shortness 
of  the  way  would  allow  him. 

Therefore,  to  give  him  further  occasion  to  divert 
them  with  his  whimseys,  "  Methinks,  Sir  Knight- 
errant,"  said  he  to  him,  "  you  have  taken  up  one  of 
the  strictest  and  most  mortifying  professions  in  the 
world.  I  don't  think  but  that  a  Carthusian  friar 
has  a  better  time  on't  than  you  have."  "  Perhaps," 
answered  Don  Quixote,  "  the  profession  of  a  Car- 
thusian may  be  as  austere,  but  I  am  within  two 
fingers'  breadth  of  doubting,  whether  it  may  be  as 
beneficial  to  the  world  as  ours.  For,  if  we  must 
speak  the  truth,  the  soldier,  who  puts  his  captain's 
command  in  execution,  may  be  said  to  do  as  much 
at  least  as  the  captain  who  commanded  him.  The 
application  is  easy :  for,  while  those  religious  men 
have  nothing  to  do,  but  with  all  quietness  and  secu- 
rity to  say  their  prayers  for  the  prosperity  of  the 
world,  we  khights,  like  soldiers,  execute  what  they 


DON    QUIXOTE.  123 

do  but  pray  for,  and  procure  those  benefits  to  man- 
kind, by  the  strength  of  our  arms,  and  at  the  hazard 
of  our  lives,  for  which  they  only  intercede.  Nor 
do  we  do  this  sheltered  from  the  injuries  of  the  air, 
but  under  no  other  roof  than  that  of  the  wide  hea- 
vens, exposed  to  summer's  scorching  heat,  and  win- 
ter's pinching  cold.  So  that  we  may  justly  style 
ourselves  the  ministers  of  heaven,  and  the  instru- 
ments of  its  justice  upon  earth  ;  and  as  the  business 
of  war  is  not  to  be  compassed  without  vast  toil  and 
labor,  so  the  religious  soldier  must  undoubtedly  be 
preferred  before  the  religious  monk,  who,  living  still 
quiet  and  at  ease,  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  pray  for 
the  afflicted  and  distressed.  However,  gentlemen, 
do  not  imagine  I  would  insinuate  as  if  the  profes- 
sion of  a  knight-errant  was  a  state  of  perfection 
equal  to  that  of  a  holy  recluse  :  I  would  only  infer 
from  what  I  have  said,  and  what  I  myself  endure, 
that  ours  without  question  is  more  laborious,  more 
subject  to  the  discipline  of  heavy  blows,  to  mace- 
ration, to  the  penance  of  hunger  and  thirst,  and,  in 
a  word,  to  rags,  to  want,  and  misery.  For  if  you 
find  that  some  knights-errant  have  at  last  by  their 
valor  been  raised  to  thrones  and  empires,  you  may 
be  sure  it  has  been  still  at  the  expense  of  much 
sweat  and  blood.  And  had  even  those  happier 
knights  been  deprived  of  those  assisting  sages  and 
enchanters,  who  helped  them  in  all  emergencies, 
they  would  have  been  strangely  disappointed  of 
their  mighty  expectations."  u  I  am  of  the  same 
opinion,"  replied  Vivaldo.  "  But  one  thing  among 
many  others,  which  I  can  by  no  means  approve  in 
your  profession,  is,  that  when  you  are  just  going  to 


124  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

engage  in  some  very  hazardous  adventure,  where 
your  lives  are  evidently  to  be  much  endangered, 
you  never  once  remember  to  commend  yourselves 
to  God,  as  every  good  Christian  ought  to  do  on  such 
occasions,  but  only  recommend  yourselves  to  your 
mistresses,  and  that  with  as  great  zeal  and  devotion 
as  if  you  worshipped  no  other  deity  ;  a  thing  which, 
in  my  opinion,  strongly  relishes  of  Paganism." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "there  is  no  altering 
that  method ;  for  should  a  knight-errant  do  other- 
wise, he  would  too  much  deviate  from  the  ancient 
and  established  customs  of  knight-errantry,  which 
inviolably  oblige  him  just  in  the  moment  when  he 
is  rushing  on,  and  giving  birth  to  some  dubious 
achievement,  to  have  his  mistress  still  before  his 
eyes,  still  present  to  his  mind,  by  a  strong  and  live- 
ly imagination,  and  with  soft,  amorous,  and  ener- 
getic looks,  imploring  her  favor  and  protection  in 
that  perilous  circumstance.  Nay,  if  nobody  can 
overhear  him,  he  is  obliged  to  whisper,  or  speak  be- 
tween his  teeth,  some  short  ejaculations,  to  recom- 
mend himself  with  all  the  fervency  imaginable  to 
the  lady  of  his  wishes,  and  of  this  we  have  innu- 
merable examples  in  history.  Nor  are  you  for  all 
this  to  imagine  that  knights-errant  omit  recom- 
mending themselves  to  heaven,  for  they  have  leisure 
enough  to  do  it  even  in  the  midst  of  the  combat." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Vivaldo,  "  you  must  give  me  leave 
to  tell  you,  I  am  not  yet  thoroughly  satisfied  in  this 
point:  for  I  have  often  observed  in  my  reading, 
that  two  knights-errant,  having  first  talked  a  little 
together,  have  fallen  out  presently,  and  been  so 
highly  provoked,  that,  having  turned  their  horses' 


DON   QUIXOTE.  125 

heads  to  gain  room  for  the  career,  they  have  wheel- 
ed about,  and  then  with  all  speed  run  full  tilt  at 
one  another,  hastily  recommending  themselves  to 
their  mistresses  in  the  midst  of  their  career;  and 
the  next  thing  has  commonly  been,  that  one  of  them 
has  been  thrown  to  the  ground  over  the  crupper  of 
his  horse,  fairly  run  through  arid  through  with  his 
enemy's  lance ;  and  the  other  forced  to  catch  hold 
of  his  horse's  mane  to  keep  himself  from  falling. 
Now  I  cannot  apprehend  how  the  knight  that  wras 
slain  had  any  time  to  recommend  himself  to  hea- 
ven, when  his  business  was  done  so  suddenly.  Me- 
thinks  those  hasty  invocations,  which  in  his  career 
were  directed  to  his  mistress,  should  have  been  di- 
rected to  heaven,  as  every  good  Christian  would 
have  done.  Besides,  I  fancy  every  knight-errant 
has  not  a  mistress  to  invoke,  nor  is  every  one  of 
them  in  love."  "  Your  conjecture  is  wrong,"  replied 
Don  Quixote ;  "  a  knight-errant  cannot  be  without 
a  mistress ;  'tis  not  more  essential  for  the  skies  to 
have  stars,  than  'tis  to  us  to  be  in  love.  Insomuch, 
that  I  dare  affirm,  that  no  history  ever  made  men- 
tion of  any  knight-errant  that  was  not  a  lover ;  for 
were  any  knight  free  from  the  impulses  of  that 
generous  passion,  he  would  not  be  allowed  to  be  a 
lawful  knight;  but  a  misborn  intruder,  and  one 
who  was  not  admitted  within  the  pale  of  knight- 
hood at  the  door,  but  leaped  the  fence,  and  stole  in 
like  a  robber  and  a  thief."  "  Yet,  sir,"  replied  the 
other,  "  I  am  much  mistaken,  or  I  have  read  that 
Don  Galaor,  the  brother  of  Amadis,  never  had  any 
certain  mistress  to  recommend  himself  to,  and  yet 
for  all  that  he  was  not  the  less  esteemed." 


126  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

"  One  swallow  never  makes  a  summer,"  answered 
Don  Quixote.  "  Besides,  I  know  that  knight  was 
privately  very  much  in  love;  and  as  for  his  making 
his  addresses,  wherever  he  met  with  beauty,  this 
was  an  effect  of  his  natural  inclination,  which  he 
could  not  easily  restrain.  But  after  all,  'tis  an  un- 
deniable truth,  that  he  had  a  favorite  lady,  whom  he 
had  crowned  empress  of  his  will;  and  to  her  he 
frequently  recommended  himself  in  private,  for  he 
did  not  a  little  value  himself  upon  his  discretion 
and  secrecy  in  love."  "  Then,  sir,"  said  Vivaldo, 
"  since  'tis  so  much  the  being  of  knight-errantry  to 
be  in  love,  I  presume  you,  who  are  of  that  profes- 
sion, cannot  be  without  a  mistress.  And  therefore, 
if  you  do  not  set  up  for  secrecy  as  much  as  Don 
Galaor  did,  give  me  leave  to  beg  of  you,  in  the  name 
of  all  the  company,  that  you  will  be  pleased  so  far 
to  oblige  us,  as  to  let  us  know  the  name  and  qua- 
lity of  your  mistress,  the  place  of  her  birth,  and  the 
charms  of  her  person.  For,  without  doubt,  the 
lady  cannot  but  esteem  herself  happy  in  being 
known  to  all  the  world  to  be  the  object  of  the  wishes 
of  a  knight  so  accomplished  as  yourself."  With 
that  Don  Quixote,  breathing  out  a  deep  sigh,  "  I 
cannot  tell,"  said  he,  "  whether  this  lovely  enemy  of 
my  repose,  is  the  least  affected  with  the  world's 
being  informed  of  her  power  over  my  heart ;  all  I 
dare  say,  in  compliance  with  your  request,  is,  that 
her  name  is  Dulcinea,  her  country  La  Mancha,  and 
Toboso  the  happy  place  which  she  honors  with  her 
residence.  As  for  her  quality,  it  cannot  be  less  than 
princess,  seeing  she  is  my  mistress  and  my  queen. 
Her  beauty  transcends  all  the  united  charms  of  her 


DON    QUIXOTE.  127 

whole  sex ;  even  those  chimerical  perfections,  which 
the  hyperbolical  imaginations  of  poets  in  love  have 
assigned  to  their  mistresses,  cease  to  be  incredible 
descriptions  when  applied  to  her,  in  whom  all  those 
miraculous  endowments  are  most  divinely  centred. 
The  curling  locks  of  her  bright  flowing  hair  are 
purest  gold ;  her  smooth  forehead  the  Elysian  Plain  ; 
her  brows  are  two  celestial  bows ;  her  eyes  two  glo- 
rious suns;  her  cheeks  two  beds  of  roses;  her  lips 
are  coral ;  her  teeth  are  pearl ;  her  neck  is  alabas- 
ter ;  her  breasts  marble ;  her  hands  ivory ;  and 
snow  would  lose  its  whiteness  near  her  bosom. 
Then  for  the  parts' which  modesty  has  veiled,  my 
imagination,  not  to  wrong  them,  chooses  to  lose  it- 
self in  silent  admiration ;  for  nature  boasts  nothing 
that  may  give  an  idea  of  their  incomparable  worth." 
"  Pray,  sir,"  cried  Vivaldo,  "oblige  us  with  an 
account  of  her  parentage,  and  the  place  of  her 
birth,  to  complete  the  description."  "  Sir,"  replied 
Don  Quixote,  "  she  is  not  descended  from  the  an- 
cient Curtiuses,  Caiuses,  nor  Scipios  of  Rome,  nor 
from  the  more  modern  Colonas,  nor  Ursinis ;  nor 
from  the  Moncadas,  and  Requesenses  of  Catalonia ; 
nor  from  the  Rebillas,  and  Villanovas  of  Valencia ; 
nor  from  the  Palafoxes,  Nucas,  Rocabertis,  Corel- 
las,  Lunas,  Alagones,  Urreas,  Fozes,  or  Gurreas  of 
Arragon ;  nor  from  the  Cerdas,  Manriques,  Mendo- 
zas,  and  Gusmans  of  Castile ;  nor  from  the  Alen- 
castros,  Pallas,  and  Menezes  of  Portugal ;  but  she 
derives  her  great  original  from  the  family  of  Toboso 
in  La  Mancha,  a  race,  which,  though  it  be  modern, 
is  sufficient  to  give  a  noble  beginning  to  the  most 
illustrious  progenies  of  succeeding  ages.  And  let 


~128  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

no  man  presume  to  contradict  me  in  this,  unless  it 
be  upon  those  conditions,  which  Zerbin  fixed  at  the 
foot  of  Orlando's  armor, 

Let  none  but  he  these  arms  displace, 
Who  dares  Orlando's  fury  face." 

"  I  draw  my  pedigree  from  the  Cachopines  of  La- 
redo," replied  Vivaldo,  "  yet  I  dare  not  make  any 
comparisons  with  the  Tobosos  of  La  Mancha ; 
though,  to  deal  sincerely  with  you,  'tis  a  family  I 
never  heard  of  till  this  moment."  "  "Pis  strange," 
said  Don  Quixote,  "  you  should  never  have  heard 
of  it  before." 

All  the  rest  of  the  company  gave  great  attention 
to  this  discourse  ;  and  even  the  very  goat-herds  and 
shepherds  were  now  fully  convinced  that  Don  Quix- 
ote's brains  were  turned  topsy-turvy.  But  Sancho 
Panza  believed  every  word  that  dropped  from  his 
master's  mouth  to  be  iruth,  as  having  known  him, 
from  his  cradle,  to  be  a  man  of  sincerity.  Yet  that 
which  somewhat  staggered  his  faith,  was  this  story 
of  Dulcinea  of  Toboso ;  for  he  was  sure  he  had 
never  heard  before  of  any  such  princess,  nor  even 
of  the  name,  though  he  lived  hard  by  Toboso. 

As  they  went  on  thus  discoursing,  they  saw,  upon 
the  hollow  road  between  the  neighboring  moun- 
tains, about  twenty  shepherds  more,  all  accoutred 
in  black  skins,  with  garlands  on  their  heads,  which, 
as  they  afterwards  perceived,  were  all  of  yew  or 
cypress ;  six  of  them  carried  a  bier  covered  with  se- 
veral sorts  of  boughs  and  flowers :  which  one  of 
the  goat-herds  espying,  "  Those  are  they,"  cried  he, 


DON   QUIXOTE.  129 

"that  are  carrying  poor  Chrysostome  to  his  grave  ; 
and  'twas  in  yonder  bottom  that  he  gave  charge 
they  should  bury  his  corpse."  This  made  them  all 
double  their  pace,  that  they  might  get  thither  in 
time ;  and  so  they  arrived  just  as  the  bearers  had 
set  down  the  bier  upon  the  ground,  and  four  of 
them  had  begun  to  open  the  ground  with  their 
spades,  just  at  the  foot  of  a  rock.  They  all  saluted 
each  other  courteously,  and  condoled  their  mutual 
loss  ;  and  then  Don  Quixote,  with  those  who  came 
with  him,  went  to  view  the  bier ;  where  they  saw 
the  dead  body  of  a  young  man  in  shepherd's  weeds, 
all  strewed  over  with  flowers.  The  deceased  seemed 
to  be  about  thirty  years  old ;  and,  dead  as  he  was, 
it  was  easily  perceived  that  both  his  face  and  shape 
were  extraordinary  handsome.  Within  the  bier 
were  some  few  books  and  several  papers,  some 
open,  and  the  rest  folded  up.  This  doleful  object  so 
strangely  filled  all  the  company  with  sadness,  that 
not  only  the  beholders,  but  also  the  grave-makers, 
and  all  the  mourning  shepherds,  remained  a  long 
time  silent ;  till  at  last  one  of  the  beavers,  address- 
ing himself  to  one  of  the  rest,  "  Look,  Ambrose," 
cried  he,  "  whether  this  be  the  place  which  Chrysos- 
tome meant,  since  you  must  needs  have  his  will  so 
punctually  performed?"  "  This  is  the  very  place," 
answered  the  other ;  "  there  it  was  that  my  unhap- 
py friend  many  times  told  me  the  sad  story  of  his 
cruel  fortune ;  and  there  it  was  that  he  first  saw 
that  mortal  enemy  of  mankind ;  there  it  was  that 
he  made  the  first  discovery  of  his  passion,  no  less 
innocent  than  violent ;  there  it  was  that  the  relent- 
less Marcella  last  denied,  shunned  him,  and  drove 
VOL.  i.  9 


130  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

him  to  that  extremity  of  sorrow  and  despair  that 
hastened  the  sad  catastrophe  of  his  tragical  and 
miserable  life  ;  and  there  it  was,  that,  in  token  of 
so  many  misfortunes,  he  desired  to  be  committed 
to  the  bowels  of  eternal  oblivion." 

Then  addressing  himself  to  Don  Quixote  and  the 
rest  of  the  travellers,  "  This  body,  gentlemen,"  said 
he,  "  which  here  you  now  behold,  was  once  enli- 
vened by  a  soul  which  heaven  had  enriched  with 
the  greatest  part  of  its  most  valuable  grace?.  This 
is  the  body  of  that  Chrysostome  who  was  unrivalled 
in  wit,  matchless  in  courteousness,  incomparable  in 
gracefulness,  a  phoenix  in  friendship,  generous  and 
magnificent  without  ostentation,  prudent  and  grave 
without  pride,  modest  without  affectation,  pleasant 
and  complaisant  without  meanness  ;  in  a  word,  the 
first  in  every  esteemable  qualification,  and  second 
to  none  in  misfortune :  he  loved  well,  and  was 
hated ;  he  adored,  and  was  disdained  ;  he  begged 
pity  of  cruelty  itself;  he  strove  to  move  obdurate 
marble  ;  pursued  the  wind  ;  made  his  moans  to  so- 
litary deserts ;  was  constant  to  ingratitude  ;  and  for 
the  recompense  of  his  fidelity,  became  a  prey  to 
death  in  the  flower  of  his  age,  through  the  barbarity 
of  a  shepherdess,  whom  he  strove  to  immortalize 
by  his  verse ;  as  these  papers  which  are  here  depo- 
sited might  testify,  had  he  not  commanded  me  to 
sacrifice  them  to  the  flames,  at  the  same  time  that 
his  body  was  committed  to  the  earth." 

"  Should  you  do  so,"  cried  Vivaldo,  "  you  would 
appear  more  cruel  to  them  than  their  exasperated, 
unhappy  parent.  Consider,  sir,  'tis  not  consistent 
with  discretion,  nor  even  with  justice,  so  nicely  to 


DON   QUIXOTE.  131 

perform  the  request  of  the  dead,  when  'tis  repug- 
nant to  reason.  Augustus  Caesar  himself  would 
have  forfeited  his  title  to  wisdom,  had  he  permitted 
that  to  have  been  effected  which  the  divine  Virgil 
had  ordered  by  his  will.  Therefore, -sir,  now  that 
you  resign  your  friend's  body  to  the  grave,  do  not 
hurry  thus  the  noble  and  only  remains  of  that  dear 
unhappy  man  to  a  worse  fate,  the  death  of  oblivion. 
What  though  he  has  doomed  them  to  perish  in  the 
height  of  his  resentment,  you  ought  not  indiscreet- 
ly to  be  their  executioner ;  but  rather  reprieve  and 
redeem  them  from  eternal  silence,  that  they  may 
live,  and,  flying  through  the  world,  transmit  to  all 
ages  the  dismal  story  of  your  friend's  virtue  and 
Marcella's  ingratitude,  as  a  warning  to  others,  that 
they  may  avoid  such  tempting  snares  and  enchant- 
ing destructions  ;  for  not  only  to  me,  but  to  all  here 
present,  is  well  known  the  history  of  your  ena- 
mored and  desperate  friend  :  we  are  no  strangers 
to  the  friendship  that  was  between  you,  as  also  to 
Marcella's  cruelty,  which  occasioned  his  death. 
Last  night,  being  informed  that  he  was  to  be  buried 
here  to-day,  moved  not  so  much  by  curiosity  as  pity, 
we  are  come  to  behold  with  our  eyes,  that  which 
gave  us  so  much  trouble  to  hear.  Therefore,  in  the 
name  of  all  the  company,  like  me,  deeply  affected 
with  a  sense  of  Chrysostome's  extraordinary  merit, 
and  his  unhappy  fate,  and  desirous  to  prevent  such 
deplorable  disasters  for  the  future,  I  beg  that  you 
will  permit  me  to  save  some  of  these  papers,  what- 
ever you  resolve  to  do  with  the  rest."  And  so, 
without  expecting  an  answer,  he  stretched  out  his 
arm,  and  took  out  those  papers  which  lay  next  to 


132  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

his  hand.  "  Well,  sir,"  said  Ambrose,  "  you  have 
found  a  way  to  make  me  submit,  and  you  may 
keep  those  papers,  but  for  the  rest,  nothing  shall 
make  me  alter  my  resolution  of  burning  them." 
Vivaldo  said  no  more  ;  but  being  impatient  to  see 
what  those  papers  were,  which  he  had  rescued  from 
the  flames,  he  opened  one  of  them  immediately, 
and  read  the  title  of  it,  which  was,  The  Despairing 
Lover.  "  That,"  said  Ambrose,  "  was  the  last  piece 
my  dear  friend  ever  wrote  ;  and  therefore,  that  you 
may  all  hear  to  what  a  sad  condition  his  unhappy 
passion  had  reduced  him,  read  it  aloud,  I  beseech 
you,  sir,  while  the  grave  is  making.''*  "  With  all  my 
heart,"  replied  Vivaldo  ;  and  so  the  company,  hav- 
ing the  same  desire,  presently  gathered  round  about 
him,  and  he  read  the  following  lines. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   UNFORTUNATE   SHEPHERD'S   VERSES,  AND   OTHER   UN- 
EXPECTED  MATTERS. 

THE    DESPAIRING    LOVER. 

RELENTLESS  tyrant  of  my  heart, 
Attend,  and  hear  thy  slave  impart 

The  matchless  story  of  his  pain. 
In  vain  I  labor  to  conceal 
What  my  extorted  groans  reveal ; 

Who  can  be  rack'd,  and  not  complain  ? 

But  oh  !  who  duly  can  express 
Thy  cruelty,  and  my  distress  ? 
No  human  art,  no  human  tongue. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  133 

Then  fiends  assist,  and  rage  infuse ! 
A  raving  fury  be  my  muse, 

And  hell  inspire  the  dismal  song ! 

Owls,  ravens,  terrors  of  the  night, 
Wolves,  monsters,  fiends,  with  dire  affright, 

Join  your  dread  accents  to  my  moans  1 
Join,  howling  winds,  your  sullen  noise  ; 
Thou,  grumbling  thunder,  join  thy  voice ; 

Mad  seas,  your  roar,  and  hell  thy  groans. 

Though  still  I  moan  in  dreary  caves, 
To  desert  rocks,  and  silent  graves, 

My  loud  complaints  shall  wander  far; 
Borne  by  the  winds,  they  shall  survive, 
By  pitying  echoes  kept  alive, 

And  fill  the  world  with  my  despair. 

Love's  deadly  cure  is  fierce  disdain, 
Distracting  fear  a  dreadful  pain, 

And  jealousy  a  matchless  woe ; 
Absence  is  death,  yet  while  it  kills, 
I  live  with  all  these  mortal  ills, 

Scorn'd,  jealous,  loath'd,  and  absent  too. 

No  dawn  of  hope  e'er  cheer'd  my  heart, 
No  pitying  ray  e'er  sooth'd  my  smart, 

All,  all  the  sweets  of  life  are  gone ; 
Then  come  despair,  and  frantic  rage, 
With  instant  fate  my  pain  assuage, 

And  end  a  thousand  deaths  by  one. 

But  even  in  death  let  love  be  crown'd, 
My  fair  destruction  guiltless  found, 

And  I  be  thought  with  justice  scorn'd : 
Thus  let  me  fall  unloved,  unbless'd, 
With  all  my  load  of  woes  oppress'd, 

And  even  too  wretched  to  be  mourn'd. 


134  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

0  !  thou  by  whose  destructive  hate, 
I'm  hurry'd  to  this  doleful  fate, 

When  I'm  no  more,  thy  pity  spare  ! 

1  dread  thy  tears ;  oh,  spare  them  then  — 
But  oh !  I  rave,  I  was  too  vain, 

My  death  can  never  cost  a  tear. 

Tormented  souls,  on  you  I  call, 

Hear  one  more  wretched  than  you  all : 

Come  howl  as  in  redoubled  flames  1 
Attend  me  to  th'  eternal  night, 
No  other  dirge,  or  fun'ral  rite, 

A  poor  despairing  lover  claims. 

And  thou  my  song,  sad  child  of  woe, 
When  life  is  gone,  and  I'm  below, 

For  thy  lost  parent  cease  to  grieve. 
With  life  and  thee  my  woes  increase, 
And  should  they  not  by  dying  cease, 

Hell  has  no  pains  like  those  I  leave. 

These  verses  were  well  approved  by  all  the  com- 
pany ;  only  Vivaldo  observed,  that  the  jealousies 
and  fears  of  which  the  shepherd  complained,  did 
not  very  well  agree  with  what  he  had  heard  of  Mar- 
cella's  unspotted  modesty  and  reservedness.  But 
Ambrose,  who  had  been  always  privy  to  the  most 
secret  thoughts  of  his  friend,  informed  him,  that  the 
unhappy  Chrysostome  wrote  those  verses  when  he 
had  torn  himself  from  his  adored  mistress,  to  try 
whether  absence,  the  common  cure  of  love,  would 
relieve  him,  and  mitigate  his  pain.  And  as  every 
thing  disturbs  an  absent  lover,  and  nothing  is  more 
usual  than  for  him  to  torment  himself  with  a  thou- 
sand chimeras  of  his  own  brain,  so  did  Chrysos- 
tome perplex  himself  with  jealousies  and  suspi- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  135 

cions,  which  had  no  ground  but  in  his  distracted 
imagination ;  and  therefore,  whatever  he  said  in 
those  uneasy  circumstances,  could  never  affect,  or 
in  the  least  prejudice  Marcella's  virtuous  character, 
upon  whom,  setting  aside  her  cruelty,  and  her  dis- 
dainful haughtiness,  envy  itself  could  never  fix  the 
least  reproach.  Vivaldo  being  thus  convinced,  they 
were  going  to  read  another  paper,  when  they  were 
unexpectedly  prevented  by  a  kind  of  apparition 
that  offered  itself  to  their  view.  It  was  Marcella 
herself,  who  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  rock,  at  the 
foot  of  which  they  were  digging  the  grave ;  but  so 
beautiful,  that  fame  seemed  rather  to  have  lessened 
than  to  have  magnified  her  charms  ;  those  who  had 
never  seen  her  before,  gazed  on  her  with  silent  won- 
der and  delight ;  nay,  those  who  used  to  see  her 
every  day,  seemed  no  less  lost  in  admiration  than 
the  rest.  But  scarce  had  Ambrose  spied  her,  when, 
with  anger  and  indignation  in  his  heart,  he  cried 
out,  "  What  makest  thou  there,  thou  fierce,  thou 
cruel  basilisk  of  these  mountains  ?  comest  thou  to 
see  whether  the  wounds  of  this  murdered  wretch 
will  bleed  afresh  at  thy  presence  ?  or  comest  thou 
thus  mounted  aloft,  to  glory  in  the  fatal  effects  of 
thy  native  inhumanity,  like  another  Nero  at  the 
sight  of  flaming  Rome  ?  or  is  it  to  trample  on  this 
unfortunate  corpse,  as  Tarquin's  ungrateful  daugh- 
ter did  her  father's?  Tell  us  quickly  why  thou 
comest,  and  what  thou  yet  desirest;  for  since  I 
know  that  Chrysostome's  whole  study  was  to  serve 
and  please  thee  while  he  lived,  I  am  willing  to  dis- 
pose all  his  friends  to  pay  thee  the  like  obedience, 
now  he  is  dead."  "  I  come  not  here  to  any  of  those 


136  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

ungrateful  ends,  Ambrose,"  replied  Marcella ;  "  but 
only  to  clear  my  innocence,  and  show  the  injustice 
of  all  those  who  lay  their  misfortunes  and  Chrysos- 
tome's  death  to  my  charge  :  therefore,  I  entreat  you 
all  who  are  here  at  this  time  to  hear  me  a  little,  for 
I  shall  not  need  to  use  many  words  to  convince 
people  of  sense  of  an  evident  truth.  Heaven,  you 
are  pleased  to  say,  has  made  me  beautiful,  and  that 
to  such  a  degree,  that  you  are  forced,  nay,  as  it 
were,  compelled  to  love  me,  in  spite  of  your  endea- 
vors to  the  contrary;  and  for  the  sake  of  that  love, 
you  say  I  ought  to  love  you  again.  Now,  though  I 
am  sensible,  that  whatever  is  beautiful  is  lovely,  I 
cannot  conceive,  that  what  is  loved  for  being  hand- 
some, should  be  bound  to  love  that  by  which  it  is 
loved,  merely  because  it  is  loved.  He  that  loves  a 
beautiful  object,  may  happen  to  be  ugly ;  and  as 
what  is  ugly  deserves  not  to  be  loved,  it  would  be 
ridiculous  to  say,  I  love  you  because  you  are  hand- 
some, and  therefore  you  must  love  me  again  though 
I  am  ugly.  But  suppose  two  persons  of  different 
sexes  are  equally  handsome,  it  does  not  follow,  that 
their  desires  should  be  alike  and  reciprocal ;  for  all 
beauties  do  not  kindle  love ;  some  only  recreate  the 
sight,  and  never  reach,  nor  -captivate  the  heart. 
Alas !  should  whatever  is  beautiful  beget  love,  and 
enslave  the  mind,  mankind's  desires  would  ever  run 
confused  and  wandering,  without  being  able  to  fix 
their  determinate  choice  ;  for  as  there  is  an  infinite 
number  of  beautiful  objects,  the  desires  would  con- 
sequently be  also  infinite  ;  whereas,  on  the  contrary, 
I  have  heard  that  true  love  is  still  confined  to  one, 
and  voluntary  and  unforced.  This  being  granted, 


DON   QUIXOTE.  137 

why  would  you  have  me  force  ray  inclinations  for 
no  other  reason  but  that  you  say  you  love  me? 
Tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  had  heaven  formed  me  as 
ugly  as  it  has  made  me  beautiful,  could  I  justly 
complain  of  you  for  not  loving  me?  Pray  consider, 
also,  that  I  do  not  possess  those  charms  by  choice ; 
such  as  they  are,  they  were  freely  bestowed  on  me 
by  heaven :  and  as  the  viper  is  not  to  be  blamed 
for  the  poison  with  which  she  kills,  seeing  it  was 
assigned  her  by  nature,  so  I  ought  not  to  be  cen- 
sured for  that  beauty  which  I  derive  from  the  same 
cause ;  for  beauty  in  a  virtuous  woman  is  but  like 
a  distant  flame,  or  a  sharp-edged  swrord,  and  only 
burns  and  wounds  those  who  approach  too  near  it. 
Honor  and  virtue  are  the  ornaments  of  the  soul, 
and  that  body  that  is  destitute  of  them,  cannot  be 
esteemed  beautiful,  though  it  be  naturally  so.  If, 
then,  honor  be  one  of  those  endowments  which 
most  adorn  the  body,  why  should  she  that  is  be- 
loved for  her  beauty,  expose  herself  to  the  loss  of 
it,  merely  to  gratify  the  loose  desires  of  one,  who, 
for  his  own  selfish  ends,  uses  all  the  means  imagin- 
able to  make  her  lose  it  ?  I  was  born  free,  and, 
that  I  might  continue  so,  I  retired  to  these  solitary 
hills  and  plains,  where  trees  are  my  companions, 
and  clear  fountains  my  looking-glasses.  With  the 
trees  and  with  the  waters  I  communicate  my 
thoughts  and  my  beauty.  I  am  a  •  distant  flame, 
and  a  sword  far  off:  those  whom  I  have  attracted 
with  my  sight,  I  have  undeceived  wTith  my  words ; 
and  if  hope  be  the  food  of  desire,  as  I  never  gave 
any  encouragement  to  Chrysostome,  nor  to  any 
other,  it  may  well  be  said,  it  was  rather  his  owTn 


138  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

obstinacy  than  my  cruelty  that  shortened  his  life. 
If  you  tell  me  that  his  intentions  were  honest,  and 
therefore  ought  to  have  been  complied  with,  I  an- 
swer, that  when,  at  the  very  place  where  his  grave 
is  making,  he  discovered  his  passion,  I  told  him  I 
was  resolved  to  live  and  die  single,  and  that  the 
earth  alone  should  reap  the  fruit  of  my  reserved- 
ness,  and  enjoy  the  spoils  of  my  beauty  ;  and  if,  after 
all  the  admonitions  I  gave  him,  he  would  persist  in 
his  obstinate  pursuit,  and  sail  against  the  wind, 
what  wonder  is  it  he  should  perish  in  the  waves  of 
his  indiscretion  ?  Had  I  ever  encouraged  him,  or 
amused  him  with  ambiguous  words,  then  I  had 
been  false;  and  had  I  gratified  his  wishes,  I  had 
acted  contrary  to  my  better  resolves :  he  persisted, 
though  I  had  given  him  a  due  caution,  and  he  de- 
spaired without  being  hated.  Now  I  leave  you  to 
judge,  whether  I  ought  to  be  blamed  for  his  suffer- 
ings? If  I  have  deceived  any  one,  let  him  com- 
plain; if  I  have  broke  my  promise  to  any  one,  let 
him  despair;  if  I  encourage  any  one,  let  him  pre- 
sume; if  I  entertain  any  one,  let  him  boast;  but  let 
no  man  call  me  cruel,  nor  murderer,  until  I  either 
deceive,  break  my  promise,  encourage,  or  entertain 
him.  Heaven  has  not  yet  been  pleased  to  show 
whether  it  is  its  will  I  should  love  by  destiny ;  and 
it  is  vain  to  think  I  will  ever  do  it  by  choice  :  so  let 
this  general  caution  serve  every  one  of  those  who 
make  their  addresses  to  me  for  their  own  ends. 
And  if  any  one  hereafter  dies  on  my  account,  let 
not  their  jealousy,  nor  my  scorn  or  hate,  be  thought 
the  cause  of  their  death;  for  she  who  never  pre- 
tended to  love,  cannot  make  any  one  jealous  ;  and 


DON   QUIXOTE.  139 

a  free  and  generous  declaration  of  our  fixed  resolu- 
tion, ought  not  to  be  counted  hate  or  disdain.  In 
short,  let  him  that  calls  me  a  tigress,  and  a  basilisk, 
avoid  me  as  a  dangerous  thing;  and  let  him  that 
calls  rne  ungrateful,  give  over  serving  me :  I  assure 
them  I  will  never  seek  nor  pursue  them.  Therefore 
let  none  hereafter  make  it  their  business  to  disturb 
my  ease,  nor  strive  to  make  me  hazard  among  men 
the  peace  I  now  enjoy,  which  I  am  persuaded  is  not 
to  be  found  with  them.  I  have  wealth  enough ;  I 
neither  love  nor  hate  any  one  :  the  innocent  conver- 
sation of  the  neighboring  shepherdesses,  with  the 
care  of  my  flocks,  help  me  to  pass  away  my  time, 
without  either  coquetting  with  this  man,  or  practis- 
ing arts  to  ensnare  that  other.  My  thoughts  are 
limited  by  these  mountains ;  and  if  they  wander 
further,  it  is  only  to  admire  the  beauty  of  heaven, 
and  thus  by  steps  to  raise  my  soul  towards  her  ori- 
ginal dwelling." 

As  soon  as  she  had  said  this,  without  expecting 
any  answer,  she  left  the  place,  and  ran  into  the 
thickest  of  the  adjoining  wood,  leaving  all  that 
heard  her  charmed  with  her  discretion,  as  well  as 
with  her  beauty. 

However,  so  prevalent  were  the  charms  of  the 
latter,  that  some  of  the  company,  who  were  despe- 
rately struck,  could  not  forbear  offering  to  follow 
her,  without  being  the  least  deterred  by  the  solemn 
protestations  which  they  had  heard  her  make  that 
very  moment.  But  Don  Quixote,  perceiving  their 
design,  and  believing  he  had  now  a  fit  opportunity 
to  exert  his  knight-errantry :  "  Let  no  man,"  cried 
he,  "  of  what  quality  or  condition  soever,  presume 


140  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

to  follow  the  fair  Marcella,  under  the  penalty  of  in- 
curring my  furious  displeasure.  She  has  made  it 
appear,  by  undeniable  reasons,  that  she  was  not 
guilty  of  Chrysostome's  death ;  and  has  positively 
declared  her  firm  resolution  never  to  condescend  to 
the  desires  of  any  of  her  admirers ;  for  which  rea- 
son, instead  of  being  importuned  and  persecuted, 
she  ought  to  be  esteemed  and  honored  by  all  good 
men,  as  being  perhaps  the  only  woman  in  the  world 
that  ever  lived  with  such  a  virtuous  reservedness." 
Now,  whether  it  were  that  Don  Quixote's  threats 
terrified  the  amorous  shepherds,  or  that  Ambrose's 
persuasion  prevailed  with  them  to  stay  and  see 
their  friend  interred,  none  of  the  shepherds  left  the 
place,  till  the  grave  being  made,  and  the  papers 
burnt,  the  body  was  deposited  in  the  bosom  of 
the  earth,  not  without  many  tears  from  all  the  as- 
sistants. They  covered  the  grave  with  a  great 
stone,  till  a  monument  was  made,  which  Ambrose 
said  he  designed  to  have  set  up  there,  with  the  fol- 
lowing epitaph  upon  it. 

CHRYSOSTOME'S  EPITAPH. 

Here  of  a  wretched  swain 

The  frozen  body's  laid, 
Kill'd  by  the  cold  disdain 

Of  an  ungrateful  maid. 

Here  first  love's  power  he  tried, 
•  Here  first  his  pains  express'd ; 

Here  first  he  was  denied, 
Here  first  he  chose  to  rest. 

You  who  the  shepherd  mourn, 

From  coy  Marcella  fly ; 
Who  Chrysostome  could  scorn, 

May  all  mankind  destroy. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  141 

The  shepherds  strewed  the  grave  with  many 
flowers  and  boughs ;  and  every  one  having  condoled 
a  while  with  his  friend  Ambrose,  they  took  their 
leave  of  him,  and  departed.  Vivaldo  and  his  com- 
panion did  the  like  ;  as  did  also  Don  Quixote,  who 
was  not  a  person  to  forget  himself  on  such  occa- 
sions :  he  likewise  bid  adieu  to  the  kind  goat-herds 
that  had  entertained  him,  and  to  the  two  travellers 
who  had  desired  him  to  go  with  them  to  Seville, 
assuring  him  there  was  no  place  in  the  world  more 
fertile  in  adventures,  every  street  and  every  corner 
there  producing  some.  Don  Quixote  returned  them 
thanks  for  their  kind  information ;  but  told  them, 
"  he  neither  would  nor  ought  to  go  to  Seville,  till 
he  had  cleared  all  those  mountains  of  the  thieves 
and  robbers  which,  he  heard,  very  much  infested  all 
those  parts.*'  Thereupon  the  travellers,  being  un- 
willing to  divert  him  from  so  good  a  design,  took 
their  leaves  of  him  once  more,  and  pursued  their 
journey,  sufficiently  supplied  with  matter  to  dis- 
course on,  from  the  story  of  Marcella  and  Chrysos- 
tome,  and  Don  Quixote's  follies.  As  for  him,  he 
resolved  to  find  out  the  shepherdess  Marcella,  if 
possible,  to  offer  her  his  service  to  protect  her  to 
the  utmost  of  his  power :  but  he  happened  to  be 
crossed  in  his  designs,  as  you  shall  hear  in  the  se- 
quel of  this  true  history ;  for  here  ends  the  Second 
Book. 


142  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 


PART  I.    BOOK  IIL 


CHAPTER  I. 

GIVING  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  DON  QUIXOTE'S  UNFORTUNATE  REN- 
COUNTER WITH  CERTAIN  BLOODY-MINDED  AND  WICKED 
YANGUESIAN*  CARRIERS. 

THE  sage  Cid  Hamet  Benengeli  relates,  that 
when  Don  Quixote  had  taken  leave  of  all  those 
that  were  at  Chrysostome's  funeral,  he  and  his 
squire  went  after  Marcella  into  the  wood ;  and  hav- 
ing ranged  it  above  two  hours  without  being  able 
to  find  her,  they  came  at  last  to  a  meadow,  whose 
springing  green,  watered  with  a  delightful  and  re- 
freshing rivulet,  invited,  or  rather  pleasantly  forced 
them,  to  alight  and  give  way  to  the  heat  of  the 
day,  which  began  to  be  very  violent :  so  leaving  the 
ass  and  Rozinante  to  graze  at  large,  they  ransacked 
the  wallet ;  and  without  ceremony  the  master  and 
the  man  fell  to,  and  fed  lovingly  on  what  they 
found.  Now  Sancho  had  not  taken  care  to  tie  up 
Rozinante,  knowing  him  to  be  a  horse  of  that  so- 
briety and  chastity,  that  all  the  mares  in  the  pas- 
tures of  Cordova  could  not  have  raised  him  to  at- 
tempt an  indecent  thing.  But  either  fortune,  or  the 
devil,  who  seldom  sleeps,  so  ordered  it,  that  a  good 

*  Carriers  of  the  kingdom  of  Galicia,  commonly  so  called. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  143 

number  of  Galician  mares,  belonging  to  some  Yan- 
guesian  carriers,  were  then  feeding  in  the  same 
valley,  it  being  the  custom  of  those  men,  about  the 
hottest  time  of  the  day,  to  stop  wherever  they  met 
with  grass  and  water  to  refresh  their  cattle ;  nor 
could  they  have  found  a  fitter  place  than  that  where 
Don  Quixote  was.  Rozinante,  as  I  said  before, 
was  chaste  and  modest ;  however,  he  was  flesh  and 
blood ;  so  that  as  soon  as  he  had  smelt  the  mares, 
forsaking  his  natural  gravity  and  reservedness, 
without  asking  his  master's  leave,  away  he  trots  it 
briskly  to  make  them  sensible  of  his  little  necessi- 
ties :  but  they,  who  it  seems  had  more  mind  to  feed 
than  to  be  merry,  received  their  gallant  so  rudely, 
with  their  heels  and  teeth,  that  in  a  trice  they  broke 
his  girths  and  threw  down  his  saddle,  and  left  him 
disrobed  of  all  his  equipage.  And  for  an  addition 
to  his  misery,  the  carriers,  perceiving  the  violence 
that  was  offered  to  their  mares,  flew  to  their  relief 
with  poles  and  pack-staves,  and  so  belabored  poor 
Rozinante,  that  he  soon  sunk  to  the  ground  under 
the  weight  of  their  unmerciful  blows. 

Don  Quixote  and  Sancho,  perceiving  at  a  dis- 
tance the  ill-usage  of  Rozinante,  ran  with  all  speed 
to  his  rescue ;  and,  as  they  came  near  the  place, 
panting,  and  almost  out  of  breath,  "  Friend  San- 
cho," cried  Don  Quixote,  "  I  perceive  these  are  no 
knights,  but  only  a  pack  of  scoundrels,  and  fellows 
of  the  lowest  rank ;  I  say  it,  because  thou  mayest 
lawfully  help  me  to  revenge  the  injury  they  have 
done  Rozinante  before  our  faces."  "  What  a  devil 
do  you  talk  of  revenge  ?  "  quoth  Sancho  ;  "  we  are 
•  likely  to  revenge  ourselves  finely !  you  see  they  are 


144  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

above  twenty,  and  we  are  but  two ;  nay,  perhapa 
but  one  and  a  half."  "  I  alone  am  worth  a  hun- 
dred," replied  Don  Quixote ;  and  then,  without  any 
more  words,  he  drew  his  sword,  and  flew  upon  the 
Yanguesians.  Sancho,  encouraged  by  his  master's 
example,  did  the  like  ;  and  with  the  first  blow  which 
Don  Quixote  gave  one  of  them,  he  cut  through  his 
leathern  doublet,  and  gave  him  a  deep  slash  in  the 
shoulder.  The  Yanguesians,  seeing  themselves 
thus  rudely  handled,  betook  themselves  to  their 
leavers  and  pack-staves,  and  then  all  at  once  sur- 
rounding the  valiant  knight  and  his  trusty  squire, 
they  charged  them  and  laid  on  with  great  fury. 
At  the  second  round,  down  they  settled  poor  San- 
cho, and  then  Don  Quixote  himself,  who,  as  chance 
would  have  it,  fell  at  the  feet  of  Rozinante,  that 
had  not  yet  recovered  his  legs ;  neither  could  the 
knight's  courage  nor  his  skill  avail  against  the  fury 
of  a  number  of  rustical  fellows  armed  with  pack- 
staves.  The  Yanguesians,  fearing  the  ill-conse- 
quences of  the  mischief  they  had  done,  made  all 
the  haste  they  could  to  be  gone,  leaving  our  two 
adventurers  in  a  woful  condition.  The  first  that 
came  to  himself  was  Sancho  Panza,  who,  finding 
himself  near  his  master,  called  to  him  thus,  with  a 
weak  and  doleful  voice:  "Ah  master!  master!  Sir, 
Sir  Knight ! "  "What  is  the  matter,  friend  Sancho  ?  " 
asked  the  knight,  in  the  same  feeble  and  lamenting 
tone.  "  I  could  wish,"  replied  Sancho,  "  that  your 
worship  would  help  me  to  two  good  draughts  of 
the  liquor  you  talk  on,  if  you  have  any  by  you ; 
perhaps  it  is  as  good  to  cure  broken  bones,  as  it  is 
to  heal  outward  wounds."  "  Oh!  that  I  had  some 


DON   QUIXOTE.  145 

cried  Don  Quixote  ;  "  we  could 
not  then  be  said  to  want  any  thing :  but  I  swear  to 
thee,  honest  Sancho,  by  the  faith  of  a  knight-errant, 
within  these  two  days  (if  no  other  disaster  prevent 
me)  I  will  have  some  of  it  at  my  disposal,  or  it 
shall  hardly  escape  my  hands."  "  Two  days,  sir!  " 
replied  Sancho  :  "  why,  pray  how  many  days  do  you 
think  it  will  be  before  we  are  able  to  stir  our  feet?" 
"As  for  myself,"  answered  the  bruised  Don  Quix- 
ote, "  I  must  own  I  cannot  set  a  term  to  the  days 
of  our  recovery  ;  but  it  is  I  who  am  the  fatal  cause 
of  all  this  mischief;  for  I  ought  not  to  have  drawn 
my  sword  against  a  company  of  fellows,  upon  whom 
the  honor  of  knighthood  was  never  conferred  ;  and 
I  do  not  doubt  but  that  the  Lord  of  hosts  suffered 
this  punishment  to  befall  me  for  transgressing  thus 
the  laws  of  chivalry.  Therefore,  friend  Sancho, 
observe  what  I  am  going  to  tell  thee,  for  it  is  a 
thing  that  highly  concerns  the  welfare  of  us  both  : 
it  is  that  for  the  future,  whenever  thou  perceivest 
us  to  be  any  ways  abused  by  such  inferior  fellows, 
thou  art  not  to  expect  I  should  offer  to  draw  my 
sword  against  them ;  for  I  will  not  do  it  in  the 
least:  no,  do  thou  then  draw  and  chastise  them  as 
thou  thinkest  fit :  but  if  any  knights  come  to  take 
their  parts,  then  will  I  be  sure  to  step  between  thee 
and  danger,  and  assault  them  with  the  utmost  vigor 
.  and  intrepidity.  Thou  hast  already  had  a  thousand 
proofs  of  the  greatness  of  my  valor,  and  the  pre- 
vailing strength  of  my  most  dreadful  arm ; "  (so  ar- 
rogant the  knight  was  grown  since  his  victory  over 
the  bold  Biscayan.) 

But  Sancho  was  not  so  well  pleased  with  his 
VOL.  i.  10 


146  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

master's  admonitions,  but  that  he  thought  fit  to  an- 
swer him.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  peaceful  man, 
a  harmless  quiet  fellow,  d'ye  see ;  I  can  make  shift 
to  pass  by  an  injury  as  well  as  any  man,  as  having 
a  wife  to  maintain,  and  children  to  bring  up ;  and 
therefore  pray  take  this  from  me  by  the  way  of  ad- 
vice, (for  I  will  not  offer  to  command  my  master,)  that 
I  will  not  in  any  wise  draw  my  sword  neither  against 
knight  nor  clown,  not  I.  I  freely  forgive  all  man- 
kind, high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  lords  and  beg- 
gars, whatever  wrongs  they  ever  did  or  may  do  me, 
without  the  least  exception."  "  Sancho,"  said  his 
master,  hearing  this,  "  I  heartily  wish  I  had  breath 
enough  to  answer  thee  effectually,  or  that  the  pain 
which  I  feel  in  one  of  my  short  ribs  would  leave  me 
but  for  so  long  as  might  serve  to  convince  thee  of 
thy  error.  Come,  suppose,  thou  silly  wretch,  that 
the  gale  of  fortune,  which  has  hitherto  been  so  con- 
trary to  us,  should  at  last  turn  favorable,  swelling 
the  sails  of  our  desires,  so  that  we  might  with  as 
much  security  as  ease  arrive  at  some  of  those  is- 
lands which  I  have  promised  thee ;  what  would  be- 
come of  thee,  if,  after  I  had  conquered  one  of  them, 
I  were  to  make  thee  lord  of  it?  Thou  wouldst 
certainly  be  found  not  duly  qualified  for  that  dig- 
nity, as  having  abjured  all  knighthood,  all  thoughts 
of  honor,  and  all  intention  to  revenge  injuries,  and 
defend  thy  own  dominions.  For  thou  must  under- 
stand, that  in  kingdoms  and  provinces  newly  con- 
quered, the  hearts  and  minds  of  the  inhabitants  are 
never  so  thoroughly  subdued,  or  wedded  to  the  in- 
terests of  their  new  sovereign,  but  that  there  is 
reason  to  fear,  they  will  endeavor  to  raise  some 


DON    QUIXOTE.  147 

commotions  to  change  the  face  of  affairs,  and,  as 
men  say,  once  more  try  their  fortune.  Therefore  it 
is  necessary  that  the  new  possessor  have  not  only 
understanding  to  govern,  but  also  valor  to  attack 
his  enemies,  and  defend  himself  on  all  occasions." 
"  I  would  I  had  had  that  understanding  and  valor 
you  talk  of,"  quoth  Sancho ;  '•  but  now,  sir,  I  must 
be  free  to  tell  you,  I  have  more  need  of  a  surgeon, 
than  of  a  preacher.  Pray  try  whether  you  can  rise, 
and  we  will  help  Rozinante,  though  he  does  not 
deserve  it ;  for  he  is  the  chief  cause  of  all  this  beat- 
ing. For  my  part,  I  could  never  have  believed  the 
like  of  him  before,  for  I  always  took  him  for  as 
chaste  and  sober  a  person  as  myself.  In  short,  it  is 
a  true  saying,  that  a  man  must  eat  a  peck  of  salt 
with  his  friend,  before  he  knows  him  ;  and  I  find 
there  is  nothing  sure  in  this  world :  for,  who  would 
have  thought,  after  the  dreadful  slashes  you  gave  to 
that  knight-errant,  such  a  terrible  shower  of  basti- 
nadoes would  so  soon  have  fallen  upon  our  shoul- 
ders?" "As  for  thine,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "I 
doubt  they  are  used  to  endure  such  sort  of  show- 
ers ;  but  mine,  that  were  nursed  in  soft  linen,  will 
most  certainly  be  longer  sensible  of  this  misfortune; 
and  were  it  not  that  I  imagine,  (but  why  do  I  say 
imagine  ?)  were  it  not  that  I  am  positively  sure, 
that  all  these  inconveniences  are  inseparable  from 
the  profession  of  chivalry,  I  would  abandon  myself 
to  grief,  and  die  of  mere  despair  on  this  very  spot." 
"  I  beseech  you,  sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  since  these 
rubs  are  the  vails  of  your  trade  of  knighthood,  tell 
me  whether  they  use  to  come  often,  or  whether  we 
may  look  for  them  at  set  times  ?  for,  I  fancy,  if  we 


148  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OP 

meet  but  with  two  such  harvests  more,  we  shall 
never  be  able  to  reap  the  third,  unless  God  of  his 
infinite  mercy  assist  us." 

"  Know,  friend  Sancho,"  returned  Don  Quixote, 
"  that  the  life  of  knights-errant  is  subject  to  a  thou- 
sand hazards  and  misfortunes ;  but  on  the  other 
side,  they  may  at  any  time  suddenly  become  kings 
and  emperors,  as  experience  has  demonstrated  in 
many  knights,  of  whose  histories  I  have  a  perfect 
knowledge.  And  I  could  tell  thee  now  (would  my 
pain  suffer  me)  of  some  of  them  who  have  raised 
themselves  to  those  high  dignities  only  by  the  valor 
of  their  arm ;  and  those  very  knights,  both  before 
and  after  their  advancement,  were  involved  in  many 
calamities  :  for  the  valorous  Amadis  de  Gaul  saw 
himself  in  the  power  of  his  mortal  enemy  Arche- 
laus  the  enchanter,  of  whom  it  is  credibly  reported, 
that  when  he  held  him  prisoner,  he  gave  him  above 
two  hundred  stripes  with  his  horse  bridle,  after  he 
had  tied  him  to  a  pillar  in  the  court-yard  of  his 
house.  There  is  also  a  secret  author  of  no  little 
credit  relates,  that  the  Knight  of  the  Sun,  being 
taken  in  a  trap  in  a  certain  castle,  was  hurried  to  a 
deep  dungeon,  where,  after  they  had  bound  him 
hand  and  foot,  they  forcibly  gave  him  a  clyster  of 
snow-water  and  sand,  which  would  probably  have 
cost  him  his  life,  had  he  not  been  assisted  in  that 
distress  by  a  wise  magician,  his  particular  friend. 
Thus  I  may  well  bear  my  misfortune  patiently, 
since  those  which  so  many  greater  persons  have 
endured  may  be  said  to  outdo  it :  for  1  would  have 
thee  to  know,  that  those  wounds  that  are  given  with 
the  instruments  and  tools  which  a  man  happens  to 


DON    QUIXOTE.  149 

have  in  his  hand,  do  not  really  disgrace  the  person 
struck.  We  read  it  expressly  in  the  laws  of  duels, 
1  That  if  a  shoemaker  strikes  another  man  with  his 
last  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  though  it  be  of 
wood,  as  a  cudgel  is,  yet  the  party  who  was  struck 
with  it  shall  not  be  said  to  have  been  cudgelled.' 
I  tell  thee  this,  that  thou  mayest  not  think  we  are 
in  the  least  dishonored,  though  we  have  been  horri- 
bly beaten  in  this  rencounter;  for  the  weapons 
which  those  men  used  were  but  instruments  of  iheir 
profession,  and  not  one  of  them,  as  I  very  well  re- 
member, had  either  tuck,  or  sword,  or  dagger." 
"  They  gave  me  no  leisure,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  to  ex- 
amine things  so  narrowly  ;  for  I  had  no  sooner  laid 
my  hand  on  my  cutlass,*  but  they  crossed  my 
shoulders  with  such  a  wooden  blessing,  as  settled 
me  on  the  ground  without  sense  or  motion,  where 
you  see  me  lie,  and  where  I  don't  trouble  my  head 
whether  it  be  a  disgrace  to  be  mauled  with  cudgels 
or  with  pack-staves  ;  let  them  be  what  they  will,  I 
am  only  vexed  to  feel  them  so  heavy  on  my  shoul- 
ders, where  I  am  afraid  they  are  imprinted  as  deep 
as  they  are  on  my  mind."  "  For  all  this,"  replied 
Don  Quixote,  "  I  must  inform  thee,  friend  Sancho, 
that  there  is  no  remembrance  which  time  will  not 
efface,  nor  no  pain  to  which  death  will  not  put  a 
period."  "  Thank  you  for  nothing ! "  quoth  Sancho  ; 
"  what  worse  can  befall  us,  than  to  have  only  death 
to  trust  to  ?  Were  our  affliction  to  be  cured  with 
a  plaster  or  two,  a  man  might  have  some  patience  ; 

*  Tizona :  The  romantic  name  of  the  sword,  which  the  Spa- 
nish general,  Roderick  Diaz  de  Bivar,  used  against  the  Moors. 


150  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OP 

but  for  aught  I  see,  all  the  salves  in  an  hospital 
won't  set  us  on  our  best  legs  again."  "  Come,  no 
more  of  this,"  cried  Don  Quixote ;  "  take  courage, 
and  make  a  virtue  of  necessity  ;  for  it  is  what  I  am 
resolved  to  do.  Let  us  see  how  it  fares  with  Rozi- 
nante  ;  for  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  poor  creature 
has  not  been  the  least  sufferer  in  this  adventure." 
"  No  wonder  at  that,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  seeing  he's 
a  knight-errant,  too ;  I  rather  wonder  how  my  ass 
has  escaped  so  well,  while  we  have  fared  so  ill." 
"  In  our  disasters,"  returned  Don  Quixote,  "  fortune 
leaves  always  some  door  open  to  come  at  a  remedy. 
I  say  it,  Sancho,  because  that  little  beast  may  now 
supply  the  want  of  Rozinante,  to  carry  me  to  some 
castle,  where  I  may  get  cured  of  my  wounds.  Nor 
do  I  esteem  this  kind  of  riding  dishonorable,  for  I 
remember  that  the  good  old  Silenus,  tutor  and  go- 
vernor to  the  jovial  god  of  wine,  rode  very  fairly  on 
a  goodly  ass,  when  he  made  his  entry  into  the  city 
with  a  hundred  gates."  "  Ay,"'  quoth  Sancho,  "  It 
will  do  well  enough,  could  you  ride  as  fairly  on 
your  ass  as  he  did  on  his ;  but  there  is  a  deal  of 
difference  between  riding,  and  being  laid  cross  the 
pannel  like  a  pack  of  rubbish."  "  The  wounds 
which  are  received  in  combat,"  said  Don  Quixote, 
"  rather  add  to  our  honor,  than  deprive  us  of  it ; 
therefore,  good  Sancho,  trouble  me  with  no  more 
replies,  but,  as  I  said,  endeavor  to  get  up,  and  lay 
me  as  thou  pleasest  upon  thy  ass,  that  we  may 
leave  this  place  ere  night  steal  upon  us."  "  But, 
sir,"  cried  Sancho,  "  I  have  heard  you  say,  that  it  is 
a  common  thing  among  you  knight-errants  to  sleep 
in  the  fields  and  deserts  the  best  part  of  the  year, 


DON  QUIXOTE.  151 

and  that  you  look  upon  it  to  be  a  very  happy  kind 
of  life."  "  That  is  to  say,"  replied  Don  Quixote, 
"  when  we  can  do  no  better,  or  when  we  are  in 
love ;  and  this  is  so  true,  that  there  have  been 
knights  who  have  dwelt  on  rocks,  exposed  to  the 
sun,  and  other  inclemencies  of  the  sky,  for  the  space 
of  two  years,  without  their  lady's  knowledge :  one 
of  those  was  Amadis,  when,  assuming  the  name 
of  The  Lovely  Obscure,  he  inhabited  the  bare  rock, 
either  eight  years  or  eight  months,  I  can't  now 
punctually  tell  which  of  the  two,  for  I  don't  tho- 
roughly remember  the  passage.  Let  it  suffice  that 
there  he  dwelt,  doing  penance,  for  I  don't  know 
what  unkindness  his  lady,  Oriana,  had  showed  him. 
But  setting  these  discourses  aside,  pr'ythee  despatch, 
lest  some  mischief  befall  the  ass,  as  it  has  done 
Rozinante."  "  That  would  be  the  devil,  indeed," 
replied  Sancho ;  and  so  breathing  out  some  thirty 
lamentations,  threescore  sighs,  and  a  hundred  and 
twenty  plagues  and  poxes  on  those  that  had  decoy- 
ed him  thither,  he  at  last  got  upon  his  legs,  yet  not 
so  but  that  he  went  stooping,  with  his  body  bent 
like  a  Turk's  bow,  not  being  able  to  stand  upright. 
Yet  in  this  crooked  posture,  he  made  a  shift  to  har- 
ness his  ass,  who  had  not  forgot  to  take  his  share 
of  licentiousness  that  day.  After  this,  he  helped 
up  Rozinante,  who,  could  his  tongue  have  express- 
ed his  sorrows,  would  certainly  not  have  been  be- 
hind-hand with  Sancho  and  his  master.  After 
many  bitter  oh's,  and  screwed  faces,  Sancho  laid 
Don  Quixote  on  the  ass,  tied  Rozinante  to  its  tail, 
and  then,  leading  the  ass  by  the  halter,  he  took  the 
nearest  way  that  he  could  guess  to  the  high  road  ; 


THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

to  which  he  luckily  came,  before  he  had  travelled  a 
short  league,  and  then  he  discovered  an  inn  ;  which, 
in  spite  of  all  he  could  say,  Don  Quixote  was 
pleased  to  mistake  for  a  castle.  Sancho  swore 
bloodily  it  was  an  inn,  and  his  master  was  as  posi- 
tive of  the  contrary.  In  short,  their  dispute  lasted 
so  long,  that  before  they  could  decide  it,  they 
reached  the  inn  door,  where  Sancho  straight  went 
in,  with  all  his  train,  without  troubling  himself  any 
farther  about  the  matter. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHAT    HAPPENED    TO    DON    QUIXOTE    IN    THE    INN    WHICH 
HE   TOOK  FOR  A   CASTLE. 

THE  innkeeper,  seeing  Don  Quixote  lying  quite 
athwart  the  ass,  asked  Sancho  what  ailed  him  ? 
Sancho  answered  it  was  nothing,  only  his  master 
had  got  a  fall  from  the  top  of  a  rock  to  the  bottom, 
and  had  bruised  his  sides  a  little.  The  innkeeper 
had  a  wife,  very  different  from  the  common  sort  of 
hostesses,  for  she  was  of  a  charitable  nature,  and 
very  compassionate  of  her  neighbor's  affliction ; 
which  made  her  immediately  take  care  of  Don 
Quixote,  and  call  her  daughter  (a  good  handsome 
girl)  to  set  her  helping  hand  to  his  cure.  One  of 
the  servants  in  the  inn  wras  an  Asturian  wench,  a 
broad-faced,  flat-headed,  saddle-nosed  dowdy  ;  blind 
of  one  eye,  and  the  other  almost  out :  however,  the 
activity  of  her  body  supplied  all  other  defects.  She 
was  not  above  three  feet  high  from  her  heels  to  her 


DON   QUIXOTE.  153 

head ;  and  her  shoulders,  which  somewhat  loaded 
her,  as  having  too  much  flesh  upon  them,  made  her 
look  downwards  oftener  than  she  could  have  wish- 
ed. This  charming  original  likewise  assisted  the 
mistress  and  the  daughter ;  and,  with  the  latter, 
helped  to  make  the  knight's  bed,  and  a  sorry  one 
it  was ;  the  room  where  it  stood  was  an  old  gam- 
bling cock-loft,  which  by  manifold  signs  seemed  to 
have  been,  in  the  days  of  yore,  a  repository  for 
chopped  straw.  Somewhat  farther,  in  a  corner  of 
that  garret,  a  carrier  had  his  lodging ;  and  though 
his  bed  was  nothing  but  the  pannels  and  coverings 
of  his  mules,  it  was  much  better  than  that  of  Don 
Quixote,  which  only  consisted  of  four  rough-hewn 
boards  laid  upon  two  uneven  tressels,  a  flock-bed, 
that,  for  thinness,  might  well  have  passed  for  a 
quilt,  and  was  full  of  knobs  and  bunches,  which, 
had  they  not  peeped  out  through  many  a  hole,  and 
shown  themselves  to  be  of  wool,  might  well  have 
been  taken  for  stones  :  the  rest  of  that  extraordinary 
bed's  furniture  was  a  pair  of  sheets,  which  rather 
seemed  to  be  of  leather,  than  of  linen  cloth,  and  a 
coverlet  whose  every  individual  thread  you  might 
have  told,  and  never  have  missed  one  in  the  tale. 

In  this  ungracious  bed  was  the  kuight  laid,  to 
rest  his  belabored  carcass,  and  presently  the  hostess 
and  her  daughter  anointed  and  plastered  him  all 
over,  while  Maritornes  (for  that  was  the  name  of 
the  Asturian  wench)  held  the  candle.  The  hostess, 
while  she  greased  him,  wondering  to  see  him  so 
bruised  all  over,  "  I  fancy,"  said  she,  "  those  bumps 
look  much  more  like  a  dry  beating  than  a  fall." 
u  It  was  no  dry  beating,  mistress,  I  promise  you," 


154  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OP 

quoth  Sancho,  "  but  the  rock  had,  I  know  not  how, 
many  cragged  ends  and  knobs,  whereof  every  one 
gave  my  master  a  token  of  his  kindness.  And  by 
the  way,  forsooth,"  continued  he,  "  I  beseech  you 
save  a  little  of  that  same  tow  and  ointment  for  me 
too,  for  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  my 
back,  but  I  fancy  I  stand  mainly  in  want  of  a  little 
greasing  too."  "  What,  I  suppose  you  fell  too  ?  " 
quoth  the  landlady.  "  Not  I,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  but 
the  very  fright  that  I  took  to  see  my  master  tumble 
down  the  rock,  has  so  wrought  upon  my  body,  that 
I 'am  as  sore  as  if  I  had  been  sadly  mauled."  "  It 
may  well  be  as  you  say,"  cried  the  innkeeper's 
daughter ;  "  for  I  have  dreamed  several  times  that 
I  have  been  falling  from  the  top  of  a  high  tower 
without  ever  coming  to  the  ground ;  and  when  I 
waked,  I  have  found  myself  as  out  of  order,  and  as 
bruised,  as  if  I  had  fallen  in  good  earnest."  "  That 
is  e'en  my  case,  mistress,"  quoth  Sancho;  "only  ill 
luck  would  have  it  so,  that  I  should  find  myself  e'en 
almost  as  battered  and  bruised  as  my  lord  Don 
Quixote,  and  yet  all  the  while  be  as  broad  awake  as 
I  am  now."  "  How  do  you  call  this  same  gentle- 
man ?  "  quoth  Maritornes.  "  He  is  Don  Quixote  de 
la  Mancha,"  replied  Sancho ;  "  and  he  is  a  knight- 
errant,  and  one  of  the  primest  and  stoutest  that  ever 
the  sun  shined  on."  "A  knight-errant,"  cried  the 
wench,  "  pray  what  is  that  ?  "  "  Heigh-day ! "  cried 
Sancho,  "does  the  wench  know  no  more  of  the 
world  than  that  comes  to  ?  Why,  a  knight-errant 
is  a  thing  which  in  two  words  you  see  well  cudgel- 
led, and  then  an  emperor.  To-day  there  is  not  a 
more  wretched  thing  upon  the  earth,  and  yet  to- 


DON    QUIXOTE.  155 

morrow  he'll  have  you  two  or  three  kingdoms  to 
give  away  to  his  squire."  "  How  comes  it  to  pass, 
then,"  quoth  the  landlady,  "  that  thou,  who  art  this 
great  person's  squire,  hast  not  yet  got  thee  at  least 
an  earldom  ?  "  "  Fair  and  softly  goes  far,"  replied 
Sancho.  "  Why,  we  have  not  been  a  month  in  our 
gears,  so  that  we  have  not  yet  encountered  any  ad- 
venture worth  the  naming:  besides,  many  a  time 
we  look  for  one  thing,  and  light  on  another.  But 
if  my  lord  Don  Quixote  happens  to  get  well  again, 
and  I  escape  remaining  a  cripple,  I'll  not  take  the 
best  title  in  the  land  for  what  I  am  sure  will  fall  to 
my  share." 

Here  Don  Quixote,  who  had  listened  with  great 
attention  to  all  these  discourses,  raised  himself  up 
in  his  bed  with  much  ado,  and  taking  the  hostess 
in  a  most  obliging  manner  by  the  hand,  "  Believe 
me,"  said  he,  "  beautiful  lady,  you  may  well  esteem 
it  a  happiness  that  you  have  now  the  opportunity 
to  entertain  my  person  in  your  castle.  Self-praise 
is  unworthy  a  man  of  honor,  and  therefore  I  shall 
say  no  more  of  myself,  but  my  squire  will  in- 
form you  who  I  am;  only  thus  much  let  me  add, 
that  I  will  eternally  preserve  your  kindness  in  the 
treasury  of  my  remembrance,  and  study  all  occa- 
sions to  testify  my  gratitude.  And  I  wish,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  the  powers  above  had  so  disposed  my 
fate,  that  I  were  not  already  love's  devoted  slave, 
and  captivated  by  the  charms  of  the  disdainful 
beauty  who  engrosses  all  my  softer  thoughts !  for 
then  would  I  be  proud  to  sacrifice  my  liberty  to  this 
beautiful  damsel."  The  hostess,  her  daughter,  and 
the  kind-hearted  Maritornes,  stared  at  one  another, 


156  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

quite  at  a  loss  for  the  meaning  of  this  high-flown 
language,  which  they  understood  full  as  well  as  if 
it  had  been  Greek.  Yet  conceiving  these  were 
words*  of  compliment  and  courtship,  they  looked 
upon  him  and  admired  him  as  a  man  of  another 
world  :  and  so,  having  made  him  such  returns  as 
innkeeper's  breeding  could  afford,  they  left  him  to 
his  rest;  only  Maritornes  staid  to  rub  down  Sancho, 
who  wanted  her  help  no  less  than  his  master. 

Now  you  must  know  that  the  carrier  and  she 
had  agreed  to  pass  the  night  together ;  and  she  had 
given  him  her  word,  that  as  soon  as  all  the  people 
in  the  inn  were  in  bed,  she  would  be  sure  to  come 
to  him,  and  be  at  his  service.  And  it  is  said  of  this 
good-natured  thing,  that  whenever  she  had  passed 
her  word  in  such  cases,  she  was  sure  to  make  it 
good,  though  she  had  made  the  promise  in  the  midst 
of  a  wood,  and  without  any  witness  at  all :  for  she 
stood  much  upon  her  gentih'ty,  though  she  under- 
valued herself  so  far  as  to  serve  in  an  inn ;  often 
saying,  that  nothing  but  crosses  and  necessity 
could  have  made  her  stoop  to  it. 

Don  Quixote's  hard,  scanty,  beggarly,  miserable 
bed  was  the  first  of  the  four  in  that  wretched  apart- 
ment; next  to  that  .was  Sancho's  kennel,  which 
consisted  of  nothing  but  a  bed-mat  and  a  coverlet, 
that  rather  seemed  shorn  canvas  than  a  rug.  Be- 
yond these  two  beds  was  that  of  the  carrier,  made, 
as  we  have  said,  of  the  pannels  and  furniture  of 
two  of  the  best  of  twelve  mules  which  he  kept,  every 
one  of  them  goodly  beasts,  and  in  special  good  case; 
for  he  was  one  of  the  richest  muleteers  of  Arevalo, 
as  the  Moorish  author  of  this  history  relates,  who 


DON   QUIXOTE.  157 

makes  particular  mention  of  him,  as  having  been 
acquainted  with  him;  nay,  some. do  not  stick  to  say 
he  was  somewhat  akin  to  him.  However  it  be,  it 
appears  that  Cid  Hamet  Benengeli  was  a  very  ex- 
act historian,  since  he  takes  care  to  give  us  an  ac- 
count of  things  that  seem  so  inconsiderable  and 
trivial.  A  laudable  example,  which  those  historians 
should  follow,  who  usually  relate  matters  so  con- 
cisely, that  we  have  scarce  a  smack  of  them,  leav- 
ing the  most  essential  part  of  the  story  drowned  in 
the  ink-horn,  either  through  neglect,  malice,  or  ignor- 
ance. A  thousand  blessings  then  be  given  to  the 
curious  author  of  Tablante  of  Ricamonte,  and  to 
that  other  indefatigable  sage  who  recorded  the 
achievements  of  Count  Tomillas!  for  they  have 
described  even  the  most  minute  and  trifling  circum- 
stances with  a  singular  preciseness.  But  to  return 
to  our  story  :  you  must  know,  that  after  the  carrier 
had  visited  his  mules,  and  given  them  their  second 
course,*  he  laid  himself  down  upon  his  pannels,  in 
expectation  of  the  most  punctual  Maritornes's  kind 
visit.  By  this  time  Sancho,  duly  greased  and 
anointed,  was  crept  into  his  sty,  where  he  did  all  he 
could  to  sleep,  but  his  aching  ribs  did  all  they  could 
to  prevent  him.  As  for  the  knight,  whose  sides 
were  in  as  bad  circumstances  as  the  squire's,  he  lay 
with  both  his  eyes  open  like  a  hare.  And  now  was 
every  soul  in  the  inn  gone  to  bed,  nor  any  light  to 
be  seen,  except  that  of  a  lamp  which  hung  in  the 
middle  of  the  gate-way.  This  general  tranquillity 

*  In  Spain  they  get  up  in  the  night  to  dress  their  cattle,  and 
give  them  their  barley  and  straw,  which  serve  for  hay  and  oats. 


158  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

i 
setting  Don  Quixote's  thoughts  at  work,  offered  to 

his  imagination  one  of  the  most  absurd  follies  that 
ever  crept  into  a  distempered  brain  from  the  perusal 
of  romantic  whimseys.  Now  he  fancied  himself  to 
be  in  a  famous  castle,  (for,  as  we  have  already  said, 
all  the  inns  he  lodged  in  seemed  no  less  than 
castles  to  him,)  and  that  the  innkeeper's  daughter, 
(consequently  daughter  to  the  lord  of  the  castle,) 
strangely  captivated  with  his  graceful  presence  and 
gallantry,  had  promised  him  the  pleasure  of  her 
embraces,  as  soon  as  her  father  and  mother  were 
gone  to  rest.  This  chimera  disturbed  him,  as  if 
it  had  been  a  real  truth;  so  that  he  began  to  be 
mightily  perplexed,  reflecting  on  the  danger  to 
which  his  honor  was  exposed :  but  at  last  his  virtue 
overcame  the  powerful  temptation,  and  he  firmly 
resolved  not  to  be  guilty  of  the  least  infidelity  to 
his  lady  Dulcinea  del  Toboso,  though  Queen  Gerie- 
ver  herself,  with  her  trusty  matron  Quintaniona, 
should  join  to  decoy  him  into  the  alluring  snare. 

While  these  wild  imaginations  worked  in  his 
brain,  the  gentle  Maritornes  was  mindful  of  her  as- 
signation, and  with  soft  and  wary  steps,  barefoot, 
and  in  her  srnock,  with  her  hair  gathered  up  in  a 
fustian  coif,  stole  into  the  room,  and  felt  about  for 
her  beloved  carrier's  bed :  but  scarce  had  she  got  to 
the  door,  when  Don  Quixote,  whose  ears  were  on 
the  scout,  was  sensible  that  something  was  coming 
in  ;  and  therefore  having  raised  himself  in  his  bed, 
sore  and  wrapt  up  in  his  plasters  as  he  was,  he 
stretched  out  his  arms  to  receive  his  fancied  dam- 
sel, and  caught  hold  of  Maritornes  by  the  wrist,  as 
she  was,  with  her  arms  stretched,  groping  her  way 


DON   QUIXOTE.  159 

to  her  paramour;  he  pulled  her  to  him,  and  made 
her  sit  down  by  his  bedside,  she  not  daring  to  speak 
a  word  all  the  while.  Now,  as  he  imagined  her  to 
be  the  lord  of 'the  castle's  daughter,  her  smock, 
which  was  of  the  coarsest  canvas,  seemed  to  him 
of  the  finest  holland ;  and  the  glass  beads  about  her 
wrist,  precious  oriental  pearls;  her  hair,  that  was 
almost  as  rough  as  a  horse's  mane,  he  took  to  be 
soft  flowing  threads  of  bright  curling  gold;  and  her 
breath,  that  had  a  stronger  hogoe  than  stale  veni- 
son, was  to  him  a  grateful  compound  of  the  most 
fragrant  perfumes  of  Arabia.  In  short,  flattering 
imagination  transformed  her  into  the  likeness  of 
those  romantic  beauties,  one  of  whom,  as  he  re- 
membered to  have  read,  came  to  pay  a  private  visit 
to  a  wounded  knight,  with  whom  she  was  despe- 
rately in  love ;  and  the  poor  gentleman's  obstinate 
folly  had  so  infatuated  his  outward  sense,  that  his 
feeling  and  his  smell  could  not  in  the  least  unde- 
ceive him,  and  he  thought  he  had  no  less  than  a 
balmy  Venus  in  his  arms,  while  he  hugged  a  ful- 
some bundle  of  deformities,  that  would  have  turned 
any  man's  stomach  but  a  sharp-set  carrier's.  There- 
fore, clasping  her  still  closer,  with  a  soft  and  amor- 
ous whisper,  "  Oh !  thou  most  lovely  temptation," 
cried  he,  "  oh  !  that  I  now  might  but  pay  a  warm 
acknowledgment  for  the  mighty  blessing  which  your 
extravagant  goodness  would  lavish  on  me!  yes, 
most  beautiful  charmer,  I  would  give  an  empire  to 
purchase  your  most  desirable  embraces  ;  but  for- 
tune, madam,  fortune,  that  tyrant  of  my  life,  that 
unrelenting  enemy  to  the  truly  deserving,  has  mali- 
ciously hurried  arid  riveted  me  to  this  bed,  where  I 


160  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

lie  so  bruised  and  macerated,  that,  though  I  were 
eager  to  gratify  your  desires,  I  should  at  this  dear 
unhappy  minute,  be  doomed  to  impotence.  Nay, 
to  that  unlucky  bar  fate  has  added  a  yet  more  in- 
vincible obstacle ;  I  mean  my  plighted  faith  to  the 
unrivalled  Dulcinea  del  Toboso,  the  sole  mistress 
of  my  wishes,  and  absolute  sovereign  of  my  heart. 
Oh  !  did  not  this  oppose  my  present  happiness,  I 
could  never  be  so  dull  and  insensible  a  knight  as 
to  lose  the  benefit  of  this  extraordinary  favor  which 
you  have  now  condescended  to  offer  me." 

Poor  Maritornes  all  this  while  sweated  for  fear 
and  anxiety,  to  find  herself  thus  locked  in  the 
knight's  arms;  and  without  either  understanding, 
or  willing  to  understand  his  florid  excuses,  she  did 
what  she  could  to  get  from  him,  and  sheer  off,  with- 
out speaking  a  word.  On  the  other  side,  the  carrier, 
whose  lewd  thoughts  kept  him  awake,  having  heard 
his  trusty  lady  when  she  first  came  in,  and  listened 
ever  since  to  the  knight's  discourse,  began  to  be 
afraid  that  she  had  made  some  other  assignation  ; 
and  so,  without  any  more  ado,  he  crept  softly  to 
Don  Quixote's  bed,  where  he  listened  awhile  to 
hear  what  would  be  the  end  of  all  this  talk,  which 
he  could  not  understand  :  but  perceiving  at  last  by 
the  struggling  of  his  faithful  Maritornes,  that  it  was 
none  of  her  fault,  and  that  the  knight  strove  to  de- 
tain her  against  her  will,  he  could  by  no  means 
bear  his  familiarity ;  and  therefore  taking  it  in 
mighty  dudgeon,  he  up  with  his  fist,  and  hit  the 
enamored  knight  such  a  swinging  blow  on  the  jaws, 
that  his  face  was  all  over  blood  in  a  moment.  And 
not  satisfied  with  this,  he  got  on  the  top  of  the 


DON    QUIXOTE.  161 

knight,  and  with  his  splay  feet  betrampled  him,  as 
if  he  had  been  trampling  a  hay-mow.  With  that 
the  bed,  whose  foundations  were  none  of  the  best, 
sunk  under  the  additional  load  of  the  carrier,  and 
fell  with  such  a  noise,  that  it  waked  the  innkeeper, 
who  presently  suspects  it  to  be  one  of  Maritornes's 
nightly  skirmishes  ;  and  therefore  having  called  her 
aloud,  and  finding  that  she  did  not  answer,  he 
lighted  a  lamp  and  made  to  the  place  where  he 
heard  the  bustle.  The  wench,  who  heard  him  com- 
ing, knowing  him  to  be  of  a  passionate  nature,  was 
scared  out  of  her  wits,  and  fled  for  shelter  to  San- 
cho's  sty,  where  he  lay  snoring  to  some  tune :  there 
she  pigged  in,  and  slunk  under  the  coverlet,  where 
she  lay  snug,  and  trussed  up  as  round  as  an  egg. 
Presently  her  master  came  in,  in  a  mighty  heat : 
"  Where's  this  damned  whore  ?  "  cried  he ;  "  I  dare 
say  this  is  one  of  her  pranks."  By  this,  Sancho 
awaked ;  and  feeling  that  unusual  lump,  which  al- 
most overlaid  him,  he  took  it  to  be  the  nightmare, 
and  began  to  lay  about  him  with  his  fists,  and 
thumped  the  wench  so  unmercifully,  that  at  last 
flesh  and  blood  were  no  longer  able  to  bear  it ;  and 
forgetting  the  danger  she  was  in,  and  her  dear  repu- 
tation, she  paid  him  back  his  thumps  as  fast  as  her 
fists  could  lay  them  on,  and  soon  roused  the  drowsy 
squire  out  of  his  sluggishness,  whether  he  would  or 
no :  who,  finding  himself  thus  pommelled,  by  he 
did  not  know  who,  he  bustled  up  in  his  nest,  and 
catching  hold  of  Maritornes,  they  began  the  most 
pleasant  skirmish  in  the  world  ;  when  the  carrier 
perceiving,  by  the  light  of  the  innkeeper's  lamp,  the 
dismal  condition  that  his  dear  mistress  was  in,  pre- 
VOL.  i.  11 


162  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OP 

sently  took  her  part ;  and  leaving  the  knight,  whom 
he  had  no  more  than  sufficiently  mauled,  flew  at 
the  squire  and  paid  him  confoundedly.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  innkeeper,  who  took  the  wench  to 
be  the  cause  of  all  this  hurly-burly,  cuffed  and  kick- 
ed, and  kicked  and  cuffed  her  over  and  over  again  : 
and  so  there  was  a  strange  multiplication  of  fisti- 
cuffs and  drubbings.  The  carrier  pommelled  San- 
cho,  Sancho  mauled  the  wench,  the  wench  belabored 
the  squire,  and  the  innkeeper  thrashed  her  again  : 
and  all  of  them  laid  on  with  such  expedition,  that 
you  would  have  thought  they  had  been  afraid  of 
losing  time.  But  the  jest  was,  that  in  the  heat  of 
the  fray,  the  lamp  went  out,  so  that  being  now  in 
the  dark,  they  plied  one  another  at  a  venture ;  they 
struck  and  tore,  all  went  to  rack,  while  nails  and 
fists  flew  about  without  mercy. 

There  happened  to  lodge  that  night  in  the  inn 
one  of  the  officers  belonging  to  that  society  which 
they  call  the  old  holy  brotherhood  of  Toledo,  whose 
chief  office  is  to  look  after  thieves  and  robbers.  Being 
waked  with  the  heavy  bustle,  he  presently  jumped 
out  of  his  bed,  and  with  his  short  staff  in  one  hand, 
and  a  tin  box  with  his  commission  in  it  in  the 
other,  he  groped  out  his  way,  and  being  entered  the 
room  in  the  dark,  cried  out,  "  I  charge  you  all  to 
keep  the  peace :  I  am  an  officer  of  the  holy  brother- 
hood." The  first  he  popped  his  hand  upon,  hap- 
pened to  be  the  poor  battered  knight,  who  lay  upon 
his  back  at  his  full  length,  without  any  feeling, 
upon  the  ruins  of  his  bed.  The  officer  having 
caught  him  by  the  beard,  presently  cried  out,  "  I 
charge  you  to  aid  and  assist  me ;"  but  finding  he 


DON   QUIXOTE.  163 

could  not  stir,  though  he  griped  him  hard,  he  pre- 
sently imagined  him  to  be  dead,  and  murdered  by 
the  rest,  in  the  room.  With  that  he  bawled  out  to 
have  the  gates  of  the  inn  shut.  "  Here's  a  man 
murdered,"  cried  he ;  "  look  that  nobody  makes  his 
escape."  These  words  struck  all  the  combatants 
with  such  a  terror,  that,  as  soon  as  they  reached 
their  ears,  they  gave  over,  and  left  the  argument 
undecided.  Away  stole  the  innkeeper  to  his  own 
room,  the  carrier  to  his  pannels,  and  the  wench  to 
her  kennel ;  only  the  unfortunate  knight,  and  his  as 
unfortunate  squire,  remained  where  they  lay,  not 
being  able  to  stir ;  while  the  officer,  having  let  go 
Don  Quixote's  beard,  went  out  for  a  light,  in  order 
to  apprehend  the  supposed  murderers :  but  the  inn- 
keeper having  wisely  put  out  the  lamp  in  the  gate- 
way, as  he  sneaked  out  of  the  room,  the  officer  was 
obliged  to  repair  to  the  kitchen  chimney,  where 
with  much  ado,  puffing  and  blowing  a  long  while 
amidst  the  embers,  he  at  last  made  shift  to  get  a 
light. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A.  FURTHER  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  INNUMERABLE  HARDSHIPS 
WHICH  THE  BRAVE  DON  QUIXOTE,  AND  HIS  WORTHY 
SQUIRE  SANCHO,  UNDERWENT  IN  THE  INN,  WHICH  THE 
KNIGHT  UNLUCKILY  TOOK  FOR  A  CASTLE. 

DON  QUIXOTE,  who  by  this  time  was  come  to 
himself,  began  to  call  Sancho  with  the  same  la- 
mentable tone  as  the  day  before,  when  he  had  been 
beaten  by  the  carriers  in  the  meadow.  "  Sancho," 


164  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

cried  he,  "  friend  Sancho,  art  thou  asleep  ?  art  them 
asleep,  friend  Sancho  ?  "  "  Sleep !  "  replied  Sancho, 
mightily  out  of  humor,  "  may  Old  Nick  rock  my 
cradle,  then.  Why,  how  the  devil  should  I  sleep, 
when  all  the  imps  of  hell  have  been  tormenting  me 
to-night  ?  "  "  Nay,  thou  art  in  the  right,"  answered 
Don  Quixote,  "for  either  I  have- no  skill  in  these 
matters,  or  this  castle  is  enchanted.  Hear  what  I 
say  to  thee,  but  first  swear  thou  wilt  never  reveal  it 
till  after  my  death."  "  I  swear  it,"  quoth  Sancho. 
"  I  am  thus  cautious,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  because 
I  hate  to  take  away  the  reputation  of  any  person." 
"  Why,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  I  tell  you  again,  1  swear 
never  to  speak  a  word  of  the  matter  while  you  live ; 
and  I  hope  I  may  be  at  liberty  to  talk  on't  to-mor- 
row." "  Why,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  have  I  done 
thee  so  much  wrong,  Sancho,  that  you  would  have 
me  die  so  soon  ?  "  "  Nay,  'tis  not  for  that  neither," 
quoth  Sancho,  "  but  because  I  can't  abide  to  keep 
things  long,  for  fear  they  should  grow  mouldy." 
"  Well,  let  it  be  as  thou  pleasest,"  said  Don  Quix- 
ote, "  for  I  dare  trust  greater  concerns  to  thy  cour- 
tesy and  affection.  In  short,  know,  that  this  very 
night  there  happened  to  me  one  of  the  strangest 
adventures  that  can  be  imagined  ;  for  the  daughter 
of  the  lord  of  this  castle  came  to  me,  who  is  one  of 
the  most  engaging  and  most  beautiful  damsels  that 
ever  nature  has  been  proud  to  boast  of :  what  could 
I  not  tell  thee  of  the  charms  of  her  shape  and  face, 
and  the  perfections  of  her  mind  !  what  could  I  not 
add  of  other  hidden  beauties,  which  I  condemn  to 
silence  and  oblivion,  lest  I  endanger  my  allegiance 
and  fidelity  to  my  lady  Dulcinea  del  Toboso!  I 


DON   QUIXOTE.  165 

will  only  tell  thee,  that  the  heavens  envying  the  in- 
estimable happiness  which  fortune  had  thrown  into 
my  hand,  or  rather,  because  this  castle  is  enchant- 
ed, it  happened,  that  in  the  midst  of  the  most  ten- 
der and  passionate  discourses  that  passed  between 
us,  the  profane  hand  of  some  mighty  giant,  which 
I  could  not  see,  nor  imagine  whence  it  came,  hit 
me  such  a  dreadful  blow  on  the  jaws,  that  they  are 
still  embraed  with  blood ;  after  which  the  discour- 
teous wretch,  presuming  on  my  present  weakness, 
did  so  barbarously  bruise  me,  that  I  feel  myself  in 
a  worse  condition  now  than  I  did  yesterday,  after 
the  carriers  had  so  roughly  handled  me  for  Rozi- 
nante's  incontinency :  from  which  I  conjecture,  that 
the  treasure  of  this  damsel's  beauty  is  guarded  by 
some  enchanted  Moor,  and  not  reserved  for  me." 

"  Nor  for  me,  neither,"  quoth  Sancho ;  "  for  I 
have  been  rib-roasted  by  above  four  hundred  Moors, 
who  have  hammered  my  bones  in  such  guise,  that 
I  may  safely  say,  the  assault  and  battery  made  on 
my  body  by  the  carriers'  poles  and  pack-staves, 
were  but  ticklings  and  strokings  with  a  feather  to 
this.*  But,  sir,  pray  tell  me,  d'ye  call  this  such  a 
pleasant  adventure,  when  we  are  so  lamentably 
pounded  after  it  ?  And  yet  your  hap  may  well  be 
accounted  better  than  mine,  seeing  you've  hugged 
that  fair  maiden  in  your  arms.  But  I,  what  have  I 
had,  I  pray  you,  but  the  heaviest  blows  that  ever 
fell  on  a  poor  man's  shoulders  ?  Woe's  me,  and  the 
mother  that  bore  me,  for  I  neither  am,  nor  ever 

*  In  the  original,  were  tarts  and  cheese-cakes  to  this :  Tortas 
y  pan  pinta. 


166  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

mean  to  be,  a  knight-errant,  and  yet  of  all  the  mis- 
adventures, the  greater  part  falls  still  to  my  lot." 
"  What,  hast  thou  been  beaten  as  well  as  I  ?  "  said 
Don  Quixote.  "  What  a  plague,"  cried  Sancho, 
"  han't  I  been  telling  you  so  all  this  while !  "  "  Come, 
never  let  it  trouble  thee,  friend  Sancho,"  replied 
Don  Quixote  ;  "  for  I'll  immediately  make  the  pre- 
cious balsam,  that  will  cure  thee  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye." 

By  this  time  the  officer,  having  lighted  his  lamp, 
came  into  the  room,  to  see  who  it  was  that  was 
murdered.  Sancho  seeing  him  enter  in  his  shirt,  a 
napkin  wrapped  about  his  head  like  a  turban,  and 
the  lamp  in  his  hand,  he  being  also  an  ugly,  ill- 
looked  fellow,  "  Sir,"  quoth  the  squire  to  his  master, 
"  pray  see  whether  this  be  not  the  enchanted  Moor, 
that's  come  again  to  have  t'other  bout  with  me,  and 
try*  whether  he  has  not  left  some  place  unbruised, 
for  him  now  to  maul  as  much  as  the  rest."  "  It 
cannot  be  the  Moor,"  replied  Don  Quixote :  "  for 
persons  enchanted  are  to  be  seen  by  nobody."  "  If 
they  do  not  suffer  themselves  to  be  seen,"  quoth 
Sancho,  "  at  least  they  suffer  themselves  to  be  felt : 
if  not,  let  my  carcass  bear  witness."  "  So  might 
mine,"  cried  Don  Quixote ;  "  yet  this  is  no  suffi- 
cient reason  to  prove,  that  what  we  see  is  the  en- 
chanted Moor." 

While  they  were  thus  arguing,  the  officer  ad- 
vanced, and  wondered  to  hear  two  men  talk  so 
calmly  to  one  another  there  :  yet  finding  the  unfor- 

*  Left  some  place  unbruised,  frc.  Literally,  left  something  at 
the  bottom  of  the  ink-horn  ;  that  is,  left  the  business  incomplete. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  167 

tunate  knight  lying  in  the  same  deplorable  posture 
as  he  left  him,  stretched  out  like  a  corpse,  bloody, 
bruised,  and  beplastered,  and  not  able  to  stir  him- 
self ;  "  How  is't,  honest  fellow,"  quoth  he  to  the 
champion,  "  how  do  you  find  yourself?"  u  Were 
I  your  fellow,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  I  would  have 
a  little  more  manners  than  you  have,  you  block- 
head, you  ;  is  that  your  way  of  approaching  knights- 
errant  in  this  country  ? "  The  officer  could  not 
bear  such  a  reprimand  from  one  who  made  so 
scurvy  a  figure,  and  lifting  up  the  lamp,  oil  and  all, 
hit  Don  Quixote  such  a  blow  on  the  head  with  it, 
that  he  had  reason  to  fear  he  had  made  work  for 
the  surgeon,  and  therefore  stole  presently  out  of  the 
room,  under  the  protection  of  the  night.  "  Well, 
sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  d'ye  think  now  it  was  the  en- 
chanted Moor,  or  no  ?  for  my  part,  I  think  he  keeps 
the  treasure  you  talk  of  for  others,  and  reserves 
only  kicks,  cuffs,  thumps,  and  knocks  for  your  wor- 
ship and  myself."  "  I  am  now  convinced,"  answer- 
ed Don  Quixote  :  "  therefore  let  us  waive  that  resent- 
ment of  these  injuries,  which  we  might  otherwise 
justly  show ;  for,  considering  these  enchanters  can 
make  themselves  invisible  when  they  please,  it  is 
needless  to  think  of  revenge.  But,  pray  thee  rise, 
if  thou  canst,  Sancho,  and  desire  the  governor  of 
the  castle  to  send  me  some  oil,  salt,  wine,  and  rose- 
mary, that  I  may  make  my  healing  balsam ;  for 
truly  I  want  it  extremely,  so  fast  the  blood  flows 
out  of  the  wound  which  the  fantasm  gave  me  just 
now." 

Sancho  then  got  up  as  fast  as  his  aching  bones 
would  let  him,  and  with  much  ado  made  shift,  to 


1(38  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

crawl  out  of  the  room  to  look  for  the  innkeeper ; 
and,  stumbling  by  the  way  on  the  officer,  who  stood 
hearkening  to  know  what  mischief  he  had  done, 
"  Sir,"  quoth  he  to  him,  "  for  heaven's  sake,  do  so 
much  as  help  us  to  a  little  oil,  salt,  wine,  and  rose- 
mary, to  make  a  medicine  for  one  of  the  best 
knights-errant  that  ever  trod  on  shoe  of  leather, 
who  lies  yonder  grievously  wounded  by  the  en- 
chanted Moor  of  this  inn."  The  officer,  hearing 
him  talk  at  that  rate,  took  him  to  be  one  out  of  his 
wits;  and  it  beginning  to  be  daylight,  he  opened 
the  inn  door,  and  told  the  innkeeper  what  Sancho 
wanted.  The  host  presently  provided  the  desired 
ingredients,  and  Sancho  crept  back  with  them  to  his 
master,  whom  he  found  holding  his  head,  and  sadly 
complaining  of  the  pain  which  he  felt  there  :  though 
after  all,  the  lamp  had  done  him  no  more  harm 
than  only  raising  of  two  huge  bumps ;  for  that 
which  he  fancied  to  be  blood,  was  only  sweat,  and 
the  oil  of  the  lamp  that  had  liquored  his  hair  and 
face. 

The  knight  took  all  the  ingredients,  and,  having 
mixed  them  together,  he  had  them  set  over  the  fire, 
and  there  kept  them  boiling  till  he  thought  they 
were  enough.  That  done,  he  asked  for  a  vial  to 
put  this  precious  liquor  in  :  but  there  being  none  to 
be  got,  the  innkeeper  presented  him  with  an  old 
earthen  jug,  and  Don  Quixote  was  forced  to  be  con- 
tented with  that.  Then  he  mumbled  over  the  pot 
above  fourscore  Paternosters,  and  as  many  Ave- 
marias,  Salve  Reginas,  and  Credos,  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross  at  every  word  by  way  of  benedic- 
tion. At  which  ceremony,  Sancho,  the  innkeeper. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  169 

and  the  officer  were  present ;  for  as  for  the  carrier, 
he  was  gone  to  look  after  his  mules,  and  took  no 
manner  of  notice  of  what  was  passed.  This  blessed 
medicine  being  made,  Don  Quixote  resolved  to 
make  an  immediate  experiment  of  it  on  himself; 
and  to  that  purpose  he  took  off  a  good  draught  of 
the  overplus,  which  the  pot  would  not  hold  :  but 
he  had  scarce  gulped  it  down,  when  it  set  him  a 
vomiting  so  violently,  that  you  would  have  thought 
he  would  have  cast  up  his  heart,  liver,  and  guts ; 
and  his  reaching  and  straining  put  him  into  such  a 
sweat,  that  he  desired  to  be  covered  up  warm,  and 
left  to  his  repose.  With  that  they  left  him,  and  he 
slept  three  whole  hours ;  and  then  waking,  found 
himself  so  wonderfully  eased,  that  he  made  no 
question  but  he  had  now  the  right  balsam  of  Fie- 
rabras ;  and  therefore  he  thought  he  might  safely 
undertake  all  the  most  dangerous  adventures  in  the 
world,  without  the  least  hazard  of  his  person. 

Sancho,  encouraged  by  the  wonderful  effect  of 
the  balsam  on  his  master,  begged  that  he  would  be 
pleased  to  give  him  leave  to  sip  up  what  was  left 
in  the  pot,  which  was  no  small  quantity ;  and  the 
Don  having  consented,  honest  Sancho  lifted  it  up 
with  both  his  hands,  and  with  a  strong  faith,  and 
better  will,  poured  every  drop  down  his  throat. 
Now  the  man's  stomach  not  being  so  nice  as  his 
master's,  the  drench  did  not  set  him  a  vomiting 
after  that  manner ;  but  caused  such  a  wambling  in 
his  stomach,  such  a  bitter  loathing,  kecking,  and 
reaching,  and  such  grinding  pangs,  with  cold 
sweats  and  swoonings,  that  he  verily  believed  his 
last  hour  was  come,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  agony, 


170  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

gave  both  the  balsam  and  him  that  made  it  to  the 
devil.  "Friend,"  said  Don  Quixote,  seeing  him  in 
that  condition,  "  I  begin  to  think  all  this  pain  be- 
falls thee,  only  because  thou  hast  not  received  the 
order  of  knighthood  ;  for  it  is  my  opinion,  this  bal- 
sam ought  to  be  used  by  no  man  that  is  not  a  pro- 
fessed knight."  "  What  a  plague  did  you  mean 
then  by  letting  me  drink  it?  "quoth  Sancho  ;  "a 
murrain  on  me,  and  all  my  generation,  why  did  not 
you  tell  me  this  before  ?  "  At  length  the  dose  be- 
gan to  work  to  some  purpose,  and  forced  its  way  at 
both  ends  so  copiously,  that  both  his  bed-mat  and 
coverlet  were  soon  made  unfit  for  any  further  use ; 
and  all  the  while  he  strained  so  hard,  that  not  only 
himself,  but  the  standers-by,  thought  he  would  have 
died.  This  dreadful  hurricane  lasted  about  two 
hours ;  and  then  too,  instead  of  finding  himself  as 
free  from  pain  as  his  master,  he  felt  himself  so  fee- 
ble, and  so  far  spent,  that  he  was  not  able  to  stand. 
But  Don  Quixote,  as  we  have  said,  found  himself 
in  an  excellent  temper;  and  his  active  soul  loathing 
an  inglorious  repose,  he  presently  was  impatient  to 
depart  to  perform  the  duties  of  his  adventurous  pro- 
fession :  for  he  thought  those  moments  that  were 
trifled  away  in  amusements,  or  other  concerns,  only 
a  blank  in  life;  and  all  delays  a  depriving  dis- 
tressed persons,  and  the  world  in  general,  of  his 
needed  assistance.  The  confidence  which  he  re- 
posed in  his  balsam,  heightened,  if  possible,  his 
resolution ;  and  thus  carried  away  by  his  eager 
thoughts,  he  saddled  Rozinarite  himself,  and  then 
put  the  pannel  upon  the  ass,  and  his  squire  upon 
the  pannel,  after  he  had  helped  him  to  huddle  on 


DON   QUIXOTE.  171 

his  clothes :  that  done,  he  mounted  his  steed ;  and 
having  spied  a  javelin  that  stood  in  a  corner,  he 
seized  and  appropriated  it  to  himself,  to  supply  the 
want  of  his  lance.  Above  twenty  people  that  were 
in  the  inn  stood  spectators  of  all  these  transactions; 
and  among  the  rest  the  innkeeper's  daughter,  from 
whom  Don  Quixote  had  not  power  to  withdraw  his 
eyes,  breathing  out  at  every  glance  a  deep  sigh  from 
the  very  bottom  of  his  heart ;  which  those  who  had 
seen  him  so  mortified  the  night  before,  took  to  pro- 
ceed from  the  pain  of  his  bruises. 

And  now  being  ready  to  set  forwards,  he  called 
for  the  master  of  the  house,  and  with  a  grave  deli- 
very, "  My  lord  governor,"  cried  he,  "  the  favors  I 
have  received  in  your  castle  are  so  great  and  extra- 
ordinary, that  they  bind  my  grateful  soul  to  an 
eternal  acknowledgment :  therefore  that  I  may  be 
so  happy  as  to  discharge  part  of  the  obligation, 
think  if  there  be  ever  a  proud  mortal  breathing  on 
whom  you  desire  to  be  revenged  for  some  affront  or 
other  injury,  and  acquaint  me  with  it  now ;  and  by 
my  order  of  knighthood,  which  binds  me  to  protect 
the  weak,  relieve  the  oppressed,  and  punish  the  bad, 
I  promise  you  I'll  take  effectual  care,  that  you 
shall  have  ample  satisfaction  to  the  utmost  of  your 
wishes."  —  "Sir  Knight,"  answered  the  innkeeper, 
with  an  austere  gravity,  "  I  shall  not  need  your 
assistance  to  revenge  any  wrong  that,  may  be  offered 
to  my  person;  for  I  would  have  you  to. understand, 
that  1  am  able  to  do  myself  justice,  whenever  any 
man  presumes  to  do  me  wrong :  therefore  all  the 
satisfaction  I  desire  is,  that  you  will  pay  your 
reckoning  for  horse-meat  and  man's  meat,  and  all 


172  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

your  expenses  in  my  inn."  "  How ! "  cried  Don 
Quixote,  "  is  this  an  inn  ?  "  "  Yes,"  answered  the 
host,  "  and  one  of  the  most  noted,  and  of  the  best 
repute  upon  the  road."  "  How  strangely  have  I 
been  mistaken  then!"  cried  Don  Quixote;  "upon 
my  honor  I  took  it  for  a  castle,  and  a  considerable 
one  too ;  but  if  it  be  an  inn,  and  not  a  castle,  all  I 
have  to  say  is,  that  you  must  excuse  me  from  pay- 
ing any  thing ;  for  I  would  by  no  means  break  the 
laws  which  we  knight-errants  are  bound  to  observe  ; 
nor  was  it  ever  known,  that  they  ever  paid  in  any 
inn  whatsoever;  for  this  is  the  least  recompense 
that  can  be  allowed  them  for  the  intolerable  labors 
they  endure  day  and  night,  winter  and  summer,  o'foot 
and  o'horseback,  pinched  with  hunger,  choked  with 
thirst,  and  exposed  to  all  the  injuries  of  the  air,  and 
all  the  inconveniences  in  the  world."  "  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  all  this,"  cried  the  innkeeper: 
"  pay  your  reckoning,  and  don't  trouble  me  with 
your  foolish  stories  of  a  cock  and  a  bull ;  I  can't 
afford  to  keep  house  at  that  rate."  "  Thou  art 
both  a  fool  and  a  knave  of  an  innkeeper,"  replied 
Don  Quixote ;  and  with  that  clapping  spurs  to 
Rozinante,  and  brandishing  his  javelin  at  his  host, 
he  rode  out  of  the  inn  without  any  opposition,  and 
got  a  good  way  from  it,  without  so  much  as  once 
looking  behind  him  to  see  whether  his  squire  came 
after  him. 

The  knight  being  marched  off,  there  remained 
only  the  squire,  who  was  stopped  for  the  reckoning. 
However  he  swore  bloodily  he  would  not  pay  a 
cross ;  for  the  self-same  law  that  acquitted  the 
knight  acquitted  the  squire.  This  put  the  innkeeper 


DON   QUIXOTE.  173 

into  a  great  passion,  and  made  him  threaten  San- 
cho  very  hard,  telling  him  if  he  would  not  pay  him 
by  fair  means,  he  would  have  him  laid  by  the  heels 
that  moment.  Sancho  swore  by  his  master's  knight- 
hood, he  would  sooner  part  with  his  life  than  his 
money  on  such  an  account;  nor  should  the  squires 
in  after  ages  ever  have  occasion  to  upbraid  him  with 
giving  so  ill  a  precedent,  or  breaking  their  rights. 
But  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  there  happened  to  be 
in  the  inn  four  Segovia  clothiers,  three  Cordova 
point-makers,  and  two  Seville  hucksters,  all  brisk, 
gamesome,  arch  fellows ;  who  agreeing  all  in  the 
same  design,  encompassed  Sancho,  and  pulled  him 
off  his  ass,  while  one  of  them  went  and  got  a  blan- 
ket. Then  they  put  the  unfortunate  squire  into  it, 
and  observing  the  roof  of  the  place  they  were  in  to 
be  somewhat  too  low  for  their  purpose,  they  earned 
him  into  the  back  yard,  which  had  no  limits  but  the 
sky,  and  there  they  tossed  him  for  several  times 
together  in  the  blanket,  as  they  do  dogs  on  Shrove- 
Tuesday.  Poor  Sancho  made  so  grievous  an  out- 
cry all  the  while,  that  his  master  heard  him,  and 
imagined  those  lamentations  were  of  some  person 
in  distress,  and  consequently  the  occasion  of  some 
adventure :  but  having  at  last  distinguished  the 
voice,  he  made  to  the  inn  with  a  broken  gallop; 
and  finding  the  gates  shut,  he  rode  about  to  see 
whether  he  might  not  find  some  other  way  to  get 
in.  But  he  no  sooner  came  to  the  back-yard  wall, 
which  was  none  of  the  highest,  when  he  was  an  eye- 
witness of  the  scurvy  trick  that  was  put  upon  his 
squire.  There  he  saw  him  ascend  and  descend,  and 
frolic  and  caper  in  the  air  with  so  much  nimbleness 


174  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

and  agility,  that  it  is  thought  the  knight  himself 
could  not  have  forborne  laughing,  had  he  been  any 
thing  less  angry.  He  did  his  best  to  get  over  the 
wall,  but  alas !  he  was  so  bruised,  that  he  could  not 
so  much  as  alight  from  his  horse.  This  made  him 
fume  and  chafe,  and  vent  his  passion  in  a  thousand 
threats  and  curses,  so  strange  and  various  that  it 
is  impossible  'to  repeat  them.  But  the  more  he 
stormed,  the  more  they  tossed  and  laughed ;  San- 
cho  on  his  side  begging,  and  howling,  and  threaten- 
ing, and  damning,  to  as  little  purpose  as  his  master, 
for  it  was  weariness  alone  could  make  the  tossers 
give  over.  Then  they  charitably  put  an  end  to  his 
high  dancing,  and  set  him  upon  his  ass  again,  care- 
fully wrapped  in  his  mantle. 

But  Maritornes's  tender  soul  made  her  pity  a 
male  creature  in  such  tribulation ;  and  thinking  he 
had  danced  and  tumbled  enough  to  be  a-dry,  she 
was  so  generous  as  to  help  him  to  a  draught  of 
water,  which  she  purposely  drew  from  the  well 
that  moment,  that  it  might  be  the  cooler.  Sancho 
clapped  the  pot  to  his  mouth,  but  his  master  made 
him  desist:  "Hold,  hold,"  cried  he,  "son  Sancho, 
drink  no  water,  child,  it  will  kill  thee:  behold  I  have 
here  the  most  holy  balsam,  two  drops  of  which  will 
cure  thee  effectually."  "  Ha,"  replied  Sancho,  shak- 
ing his  head,  and  looking  sourly  on  the  knight  with 
a  side-face,  "  have  you  again  forgot  that  I  am  no 
knight?  or  would  you  have  me  cast  up  the  few 
guts  I  have  left  since  yesternight's  job?  Keep 
your  brewings  for  yourself  in  the  devil's  name,  and 
let  me  alone."  With  that  he  lifted  up  the  jug  to 
his  nose,  but  finding  it  to  be  mere  element,  he 


DON   QUIXOTE.  175 

spirted  out  again  the  little  he  had  tasted,  and  de- 
sired the  wench  to  help  him  to  some  better  liquor : 
so  she  went  and  fetched  him  wine  to  make  him 
amends,  and  paid  for  it  too  out  of  her  own  pocket ; 
for,  to  give  the  devil  his  due,  it  was  said  of  her,  that 
though  she  was  somewhat  too  free  of  her  favors, 
yet  she  had  something  of  Christianity  in  her.  As 
soon  as  Sancho  had  tipped  off  his  wine,  he  visited 
his  ass's  ribs  twice  or  thrice  with  his  heels,  and,  free 
egress  being  granted  him,  he  trooped  off,  mightily 
tickled  with  the  thoughts  of  having  had  his  ends, 
and  got  off  shot-free,  though  at  the  expense  of  his 
shoulders,  his  usual  sureties.  It  is  true,  the  inn- 
keeper kept  his  wallet  for  the  reckoning ;  but  the 
poor  squire  was  so  dismayed,  and  in  such  haste  to 
be  gone,  that  he  never  missed  it.  The  host  was 
for  shutting  the  inn  doors  after  him,  for  fear  of  the 
worst;  but  the  tossers  would  not  let  him,  being  a 
sort  of  fellows  that  would  not  have  mattered  Don 
Quixote  a  straw,  though  he  had  really  been  one  of 
the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OF   THE   DISCOURSE  BETWEEN  THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  SQUIRE, 
WITH   OTHER   MATTERS   WORTH   RELATING. 

SANCHO  overtook  his  master,  but  so  pale,  so  dead- 
hearted,  and  so  mortified,  that  he  was  hardly  able 
to  sit  his  ass.  "  My  dear  Sancho,"  said  Don  Quix- 
ote, seeing  him  in  that  condition,  "  I  am  now  fully 


17b  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

convinced  that  this  castle,  or  inn,  is  enchanted  ;  for 
what  could  they  be  that  made  themselves  such  bar- 
barous sport  with  thee  but  spirits  and  people  of  the 
other  world?  and  I  the  rather  believe  this,  seeing, 
that,  when  I  looked  over  the  wall,  and  saw  thee  thus 
abused,  I  strove  to  get  over  it,  but  could  not  stir, 
nor  by  any  means  alight  from  Rozinante.  For,  by 
my  honor,  could  I  either  have  got  over  the  wall,  or 
dismounted,  I  would  have  revenged  thee  so  effect- 
ually on  those  discourteous  wretches,  that  they 
should  never  have  forgot  the  severity  of  their  punish- 
ment, though  for  once  I  had  infringed  the  laws  of 
chivalry;  which,  as  I  have  often  informed  thee,  do 
not  permit  any  knight  to  lay  hands  on  one  that  is 
not  knighted,  unless  it  be  in  his  own  defence,  and 
in  case  of  great  necessity."  "  Nay,"  quoth  San- 
cho,  "  I  would  have  paid  them  home  myself,  whether 
knight  or  no  knight,  but  it  was  not  in  my  power ; 
and  yet  I  dare  say,  those  that  made  themselves  so 
merry  with  rny  carcass  were  neither  spirits  nor  en- 
chanted folks,  as  you  will  have  it,  but  mere  flesh 
and  blood  as  we  be.  I  am  sure  they  called  one 
another  by  their  Christian  names  and  surnames, 
while  they  made  me  vault  and  frisk  in  the  air ;  one 
was  called  Pedro  Martinez,  the  other  Tenorio  Her- 
nandez ;  and  as  for  our  dog  of  an  host,  I  heard  them 
call  him  Juan  Palomeque  the  left-handed.  Then, 
pray  don't  you  fancy,  that  your  not  being  able  to 
get  over  the  wall,  nor  to  alight,  was  some  enchant- 
er's trick.  It  is  a  folly  to  make  many  words ;  it  is 
as  plain  as  the  nose  in  a  man's  face,  that  these 
same  adventures  which  we  hunt  for  up  and  down, 
are  like  to  bring  us  at  last  into  a  peck  of  troubles, 


DON   QUIXOTE.  177 

and  such  a  plaguy  deal  of  mischief,  that  we  shan't 
be  able  to  set  one  foot  afore  the  other.  The  short 
and  the  long  is,  I  take  it  to  be  the  wisest  course  to 
jog  home  and  look  after  our  harvest,  and  not  to 
run  rambling  from  Ceca*  to  Meca,  lest  we  leap 
out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire,  or,  out  of  God's 
blessing  into  the  warm  sun."  — 

"  Poor  Sancho,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  how  ignor- 
ant thou  art  in  matters  of  chivalry !  Come,  say  no 
more,  and  have  patience :  a  day  will  c6me  when 
thou  shalt  be  convinced  how  honorable  a  thing  it 
is  to  follow  this  employment.  For,  tell  me,  what 
satisfaction  in  this  world,  what  pleasure  can  equal 
that  of  vanquishing  and  triumphing  over  one's 
enemy  ?  None,  without  doubt."  "  It  may  be  so 
for  aught  I  know,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  though  I  know 
nothing  of  the  matter.  However,  this  I  may  ven- 
ture to  say,  that  ever  since  we  have  turned  knights- 
errant,  your  worship  I  mean,  for  it  is  not  for  such 
scrubs  as  myself  to  be  named  the  same  day  with 
such  folk,  the  devil  of  any  fight  you  have  had  the 
better  in,  unless  it  be  that  with  the  Biscayan  ;  and 
in  that  too  you  came  off  with  the  loss  of  one  ear 
and  the  vizor  of  your  helmet.  And  what  have  we 
got  ever  since,  pray,  but  blows,  and  more  blows ; 
bruises,  and  more  bruises  ?  besides  this  tossing  in 
a  blanket,  which  fell  all  to  my  share,  and  for  which 
I  cannot  be  revenged  because  they  were  hobgoblins 

*  Ceca  was  a  place  of  devotion  among  the  Moors,  in  the  city 
of  Cordova,  to  which  they  used  to  go  on  pilgrimage  from  other 
places,  as  Mecca  is  among  the  Turks :  whence  the  proverb  comes 
to  signify,  sauntering  about  to  no  purpose.  A  banter  upon 
Popish  pilgrimages. 

VOL.  I.  12 


178  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

that  served  me  so  forsooth,  though  I  hugely  long  to 
be  even  with  them,  that  I  may  know  the  pleasure 
you  say  there  is  in  vanquishing  one's  enemy."  "  I 
find,  Sancho,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  thou  and  I  are 
both  sick  of  the  same  disease ;  but  I  will  endeavor 
with  all  speed  to  get  me  a  sword  made  with  so 
much  art,  that  no  sort  of  enchantment  shall  be  able 
to  hurt  whosoever  shall  wear  it ;  and  perhaps  for- 
tune may  put  into  my  hand  that  which  Arnadis 
de  Gaul  wore  when  he  styled  himself,  The  Knight 
of  the  Burning  Sword,  which  was  one  of  the  best 
blades  that  ever  was  drawn  by  knight :  for,  besides 
the  virtue  I  now  mentioned,  it  had  an  edge  like  a 
razor,  and  would  enter  the  strongest  armor  that 
ever  was  tempered  or  enchanted."  "  I  will  lay  any 
thing,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  when  you  have  found  this 
sword,  it  will  prove  just  such  another  help  to  me  as 
your  balsam ;  that  is  to  say,  it  will  stand  nobody 
in  any  stead  but  your  dubbed  knights,  let  the  poor 
devil  of  a  squire  shift  how  he  can."  "  Fear  no 
such  thing,"  replied  Don  Quixote ;  "  heaven  will  be 
more  propitious  to  thee  than  thou  imaginest." 

Thus  they  went  on  discoursing,  when  Don  Quix- 
ote, perceiving  a  thick  cloud  of  dust  arise  right  be- 
fore them  in  the  road,  "  The  day  is  come,"  said  he, 
turning  to  his  squire,  "  the  day  is  come,  Sancho,  that 
shall  usher  in  the  happiness  which  fortune  has 
reserved  for  me :  this  day  shall  the  strength  of  my 
arm  be  signalized  by  such  exploits  as  shall  be  trans- 
mitted even  to  the  latest  posterity.  Sce'st  thou  that 
cloud  of  dust,  Sancho  ?  it  is  raised  by  a  prodigious 
army  marching  this  way,  and  composed  of  an  in- 
finite number  of  nations."  "  Why  then,  at  this 


DON   QUIXOTE.  179 

rate,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  there  should  be  two  armies ; 
for  yonder  is  as  great  a  dust  on  the  other  side." 
With  that  Don  Quixote  looked,  and  was  trans- 
ported with  joy  at  the  sight,  firmly  believing  that 
two  vast  armies  were  ready  to  engage  each  other 
in  that  plain :  for  his  imagination  was  so  crowded 
with  those  battles,  enchantments,  surprising  adven- 
tures, amorous  thoughts,  and  other  whimseys  which 
he  had  read  of  in  romances,  that  his  strong  fancy 
changed  every  thing  he  saw  into  what  he  desired  to 
see ;  and  thus  he  could  not  conceive  that  the  dust 
was  only  raised  by  two  large  flocks  of  sheep  that 
were  going  the  same  road  from  different  parts,  and 
could  not  be  discerned  till  they  were  very  near :  he 
was  so  positive  that  they  were  two  armies,  that 
Sancho  firmly  believed  him  at  last.  "  Well,  sir," 
quoth  the  squire,  "  what  are  we  to  do,  I  beseech 
you?"  "What  shall  we  do,"  replied  Don  Quix- 
ote, "but  assist  the  weaker  and  injured  side?  for 
know,  Sancho,  that  the  army  which  now  moves 
towards  us  is  commanded  by  the  great  Alifanfa- 
ron,  emperor  of  the  vast  island  of  Taprobana  :  the 
other  that  advances  behind  us  is  his  enemy,  the 
King  of  the  Garamantians,  Pentapolin  with  the 
naked  arm ;  so  called,  because  he  always  enters 
into  the  battle  with  his  right  arm  bare."  "  Pray, 
sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  why  are  these  two  great  men 
going  together  by  the  ears  ?  "  "  The  occasion  of 
their  quarrel  is  this,"  answered  Don  Quixote :  "  Ali- 
fanfaron,  a  strong  Pagan,  is  in  love  with  Pentapo- 
lin's  daughter,  a  very  beautiful  lady  and  a  Christian  : 
now  her  father  refuses  to  give  her  in  marriage  to 
the  heathen  prince,  unless  he  abjure  his  false  belief 


180  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

and  embrace  the  Christian  religion."  "  Burn  my 
beard,"  said  Sancho,  "  if  Pentapolin  be  not  in  the 
right  on  it;  I  will  stand  by  him,  and  help  him  all  I 
may."  "  I  commend  thy  resolution,"  replied  Don 
Quixote,  "  it  is  not  only  lawful,  but  requisite ;  for 
there  is  no  need  of  being  a  knight  to  fight  in  such 
battles."  '"  I  guessed  as  much,"  quoth  Sancho ;  "  but 
where  shall  we  leave  my  ass  in  the  mean  time,  that 
I  may  be  sure  to  find  him  again  after  the  battle ; 
for  I  fancy  you  never  heard  of  any  man  that  ever 
charged  upon  such  a  beast."  "  It  is  true,"  an- 
swered Don  Quixote,  "  and  therefore  I  would  have 
thee  turn  him  loose,  though  thou  wert  sure  never  to 
find  him  again ;  for  we  shall  have  so  many  horses 
after  we  have  got  the  day,  that  even  Rozinante  him- 
self will  be  in  danger  of  being  changed  for  another." 
Then  mounting  to  the  top  of  a  hillock,  whence  they 
might  have  seen  both  the  flocks,  had  not  the  dust 
obstructed  their  sight,  "  Look  yonder,  Sancho ! " 
cried  Don  Quixote ;  "  that  knight  whom  thou  see'st 
in  the  gilded  arms,  bearing  in  his  shield  a  crowned 
lion  couchant  at  the  feet  of  a  lady,  is  the  valiant 
Laurealco,  lord  of  the  silver  bridge.  He  in  the 
armor  powdered  with  flowers  of  gold,  bearing  three 
crows  Argent  in  a  field  Azure,  is  the  formidable 
Micocolembo,  great  duke  of  Quiracia.  That  other 
of  a  gigantic  size  that  marches  on  his  right,  is  the 
undaunted  Brandabarbaran  of  Boliche,  sovereign 
of  the  three  Arabias ;  he  is  arrayed  in  a  serpent's 
skin,  and  carries  instead  of  a  shield  a  huge  gate, 
which  they  say  belonged  to  the  temple  which  Sam- 
son pulled  down  at  his  death,  when  he  revenged 
himself  upon  his  enemies.  But  cast  thy  eyes  on 


DON   QUIXOTE.  181 

this  side,  Sancho,  and  at  the  head  of  the  other  army 
see  the  victorious  Timonel  of  Carcaiona,  Prince  of 
New  Biscay,  whose  armor  is  quartered  Azure,  Vert, 
Or,  and  Argent,  and  who  bears  in  his  shield  a  cat 
Or,  in  a  field  Gules,  with  these  four  letters,  MIAU, 
for  a  motto,  being  the  beginning  of  his  mistress's 
name,  the  beautiful  Miaulina,  daughter  to  Alpheni- 
quen,  Duke  of  Algarva.  That  other  monstrous 
load  upon  the  back  of  yonder  wild  horse,  with  arms 
as  white  as  snow,  and  a  shield  without  any  device, 
is  a  Frenchman,  now  created  knight,  called  Pierre 
Papin,  Baron  of  Utrique :  he  whom  you  see  prick- 
ing that  pyed  courser's  flanks  with  his  armed  heels, 
is  the  mighty  Duke  of  Nervia.  Espartafilardo  of  the 
wood,  bearing  in  his  shield  a  field  of  pure  Azure, 
powdered  with  Asparagus  (Esparrago*)  with  this 
motto  in  Castilian,  Restrea  mi  suerte ;  Thus  trails, 
or  drag-s  my  fortune"  And  thus  he  went  on,  nam- 
ing a  great  number  of  others  in  both  armies,  to 
every  one  of  whom  his  fertile  imagination  assigned 
arms,  colors,  impresses  and  mottoes,  as  readily  as 
if  they  had  really  been  that  moment  extant  before 
his  eyes.  And  then  proceeding  without  the  least 

*  The  gingle  between  the  duke's  name  Espartafilardo  and 
Esparago  (his  arms)  is  a  ridicule  upon  the  foolish  quibbles  so 
frequent  in  heraldry;  and  probably  this  whole  catalogue  is  a 
satire  upon  several  great  names  and  sounding  titles  in  Spain, 
whose  owners  were  arrant  beggars.  The  trailing  of  his  fortune 
may  allude  to  the  word  Esparto,  a  sort  of  rush  they  make  ropes 
with.  Or  perhaps  he  was  without  a  mistress,  to  which  the  spara- 
grass  may  allude ;  for  in  Spain  they  have  a  proverb,  Solo  comes 
el  Esparago :  As  solitary  as  sparagrass,  because  every  one  of 
them  springs  up  by  itself. 


182  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

hesitation  :  "  That  vast  body,"  said  he,  "  that  is  just 
opposite  to  us,  is  composed  of  several  nations. 
There  you  see  those  who  drink  the  pleasant  stream 
of  the  famous  Xanthus :  there  the  mountaineers 
that  till  the  Massilian  fields :  those  that  sift  the 
pure  gold  of  Arabia  Felix:  those  that  inhabit  the 
renowned  and  delightful  banks  of  Thermodoon. 
Yonder,  those  who  so  many  ways  sluice  and  drain 
the  golden  Pactolus  for  its  precious  sand.  The 
Numidians,  unsteady  and  careless  of  their  promises. 
The  Persians,  excellent  archers.  The  Medes  and 
Parthians,  who  fight  flying.  The  Arabs,  who  have 
no  fixed  hahitations.  The  Scythians,  cruel  and 
savage,  though  fair-complexioned.  The  sooty  Ethio- 
pians, that  bore  their  lips ;  and  a  thousand  other 
nations  whose  countenances  I  know,  though  I  have 
forgotten  their  names.  On  the  other  side,  come 
those  whose  country  is  watered  with  the  crystal 
streams  of  Betis,  shaded  with  olive  trees.  Those 
who  bathe  their  limbs  in  the  rich  flood  of  the  golden 
Tagus.  Those  whose  mansions  are  laved  by  the 
profitable  stream  of  the  divine  Genile.  Those  who 
range  the  verdant  Tartesian  meadows.  Those  who 
indulge  their  luxurious  temper  in  the  delicious  pas- 
tures of  Xerez.  The  wealthy  inhabitants  of  Man- 
cha,  crowned  with  golden  ears  of  corn.  The  ancient 
offspring  of  the  Goths,  cased  in  iron.  Those  who 
wanton  in  the  lazy  current  of  Pisverga.  Those 
who  feed  their  numerous  flocks  in  the  ample  plains 
where  the  Guadiana,  so  celebrated  for  its  hidden 
course,  pursues  its  wandering  race.  Those  who 
shiver  with  extremity  of  cold,  on  the  woody  Pyre- 
ncan  hills,  or  on  the  hoary  tops  of  the  snowy  Apen- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  183 

nine.  In  a  word,  all  that  Europe  includes  within 
its  spacious  bounds,  half  a  world  in  an  army."  It 
is  scarce  to  be  imagined  how  many  countries  he 
had  ran  over,  how  many  nations  he  enumerated, 
distinguishing  every  one  by  what  is  peculiar  to  them, 
with  an  incredible  vivacity  of  mind,  and  that  still 
in  the  puffy  style  of  his  fabulous  books. 

Sancho  listened  to  all  this  romantic  muster-roll 
as  mute  as  a  fish,  with  amazement ;  all  that  he 
could  do  was  now  and  then  to  turn  his  head  on  this 
side  and  t'other  side,  to  see  if  he  could  discern  the 
knights  and  giants  whom  his  master  named.  But 
at  length,  not  being  able  to  discover  any,  "  Why," 
cried  he,  "you  had  as  good  tell  me  it  snows ;  the 
devil  of  any  knight,  giant,  or  man,  can  I  see,  of  all 
those  you  talk  of  now ;  who  knows  but  all  this  may 
be  witchcraft  and  spirits,  like  yesternight?  "  "  How," 
replied  Don  Quixote;  "dost  thou  not  hear  their 
horses  neigh,  their  trumpets  sound,  and  their  drums 
beat  ? "  "  Not  I,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  I  prick  up  my 
ears  like  a  sow  in  the  beans,  and  yet  I  can  hear 
nothing  but  the  bleating  of  sheep."  Sancho  might 
justly  say  so  indeed,  for  by  this  time  the  two  flocks 
were  got  very  near  them.  "  Thy  fear  disturbs  thy 
senses,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  and  hinders  thee  from 
hearing  and  seeing  right :  but  it  is  no  matter ;  with- 
draw to  some  place  of  safety,  since  thou  art  so  terri- 
fied ;  for  I  alone  am  sufficient  to  give  the  victory  to 
that  side  which  I  shall  favor  with  my  assistance." 
With  that  he  couched  his  lance,  clapped  spurs  to  Ro- 
zinante,  and  rushed  like  a  thunder-bolt  from  the  hil- 
lock into  the  plain.  Sancho  bawled  after  him  as 
loud  as  he  could  ;  "Hold,  sir  ! "  cried  Sancho  ;  "  for 


184  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

heaven's  sake  come  back!  What  do  you  mean?  as 
sure  as  I  am  a  sinner  those  you  are  going  to  maul 
are  nothing  but  poor  harmless  sheep.  Come  back,  I 
say.  Woe  to  him  that  begot  me !  Are  you  mad,  sir? 
there  are  no  giants,  no  knights,  no  cats,  no  aspara- 
gus-gardens, no  golden  quarters  nor  what  d'ye  call 
thems.  Does  the  devil  possess  you?  you  are  leaping 
over  the  hedge  before  you  come  at  the  stile.  You 
are  taking  the  wrong  sow  by  the  ear.  Oh  that  I  was 
ever  born  to  see  this  day !  "  But  Don  Quixote  still 
riding  on,  deaf  and  lost  to  good  advice,  out-roared  his 
expostulating  squire.  "  Courage,  brave  knights ! " 
cried  he;  "march  up,  fall  on,  all  you  who  fight  under 
the  standard  of  the  valiant  Pentapolin  with  the  nak- 
ed arm :  follow  me,  and  you  shall  see  how  easily  I 
will  revenge  him  on  that  infidel  Alifanfaron  of  Ta- 
probana;"  and  so  saying,  he  charged  the  squadron 
of  sheep  with  that  gallantry  and  resolution,  that  he 
pierced,  broke,  and  put  it  to  flight  in  an  instant, 
charging  through  and  through,  not  without  a  great 
slaughter  of  his  mortal  enemies,  whom  he  laid  at  his 
feet,  biting  the  ground  and  wallowing  in  their  blood. 
The  shepherds,  seeing  their  sheep  go  to  wrack,  called 
out  to  him ;  till  finding  fair  means  ineffectual,  they 
unloosed  their  slings,  and  began  to  ply  him  with 
stones  as  big  as  their  fists.  But  the  champion  dis- 
daining such  a  distant  war,  spite  of  their  showers  of 
stones,  rushed  among  the  routed  sheep,  trampling 
both  the  living  and  the  slain  in  a  most  terrible  man- 
ner, impatient  to  meet  the  general  of  the  enemy,  and 
end  the  war  at  once.  "Where,  where  art  thou,"  cried 
he,  "proud  Alifanfaron?  Appear!  see  here  a  single 
knight  who  seeks  thee  everywhere,  to  try  now,  hand 


DON   QUIXOTE.  185 

to  hand,  the  boasted  force  of  thy  strenuous  arm, 
and  deprive  thee  of  life,  as  a  due  punishment  for  the 
unjust  war  which  thou  hast  audaciously  waged  with 
the  valiant  Pentapolin."  Just  as  he  had  said  this, 
while  the  stones  flew  about  his  ears,  one  unluckily 
hit  upon  his  small  ribs,  and  had  like  to  have  buried 
two  of  the  shortest  deep  in  the  middle  of  his  body. 
The  knight  thought  himself  slain,  or  at  least  despe- 
rately wounded ;  and  therefore  calling  to  mind  his 
precious  balsam,  and  pulling  out  his  earthen  jug,  he 
clapped  it  to  his  mouth  :  but  before  he  had  swallow- 
ed a  sufficient  dose,  souse  comes  another  of  those 
bitter  almonds,  that  spoiled  his  draught,  and  hit  him 
so  pat  upon  the  jug,  hand,  and  teeth,  that  it  broke 
the  first,  maimed  the  second,  and  struck  out  three  or 
four  of  the  last.  These  two  blows  were  so  violent, 
that  the  boisterous  knight,  falling  from  his  horse,  lay 
upon  the  ground  as  quiet  as  the  slain ;  so  that  the 
shepherds,  fearing  he  was  killed,  got  their  flock  to- 
gether with  all  speed,  and  carrying  away  their  dead, 
which  were  no  less  than  seven  sheep,  they  made 
what  haste  they  could  out  of  harm's  way,  without 
looking  any  farther  into  the  matter. 

All  this  while  Sancho  stood  upon  the  hill,  where 
he  was  mortified  upon  the  sight  of  this  mad  adven- 
ture. There  he  stamped  and  swore,  and  banned  his 
master  to  the  bottomless  pit ;  he  tore  his  beard  for 
madness,  and  cursed  the  moment  he  first  knew  him : 
but  seeing  him  at  last  knocked  down,  and  settled, 
the  shepherds  being  scampered,  he  thought  he  might 
venture  to  come  down  ;  and  found  him  in  a  very 
ill  plight,  though  not  altogether  senseless.  "  Ah ! 
master,"  quoth  he,  "  this  comes  of  not  taking  my 


186  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

counsel.  Did  I  not  tell  you  it  was  a  flock  of  sheep, 
and  no  army?"  "Friend  Sancho,"  replied  Don 
Quixote,  "know,  it  is  an  easy  matter  for  necroman- 
cers to  change  the  shapes  of  things  as  they  please : 
thus  that  malicious  enchanter,  who  is  my  inveterate 
enemy,  to  deprive  me  of  the  glory  which  he  saw  me 
ready  to  acquire,  while  I  was  reaping  a  full  harvest 
of  laurels,  transformed  in  a  moment  the  routed 
squadrons  into  sheep.  If  thou  wilt  not  believe  me, 
Sancho,  yet  do  one  thing  for  my  sake  ;  do  but  take 
thy  ass,  and  follow  those  supposed  sheep  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  I  dare  engage  thou  shalt  soon  see  them 
resume  their  former  shapes,  and  appear  such  as  I  de- 
scribed them.  But  stay,  do  not  go  yet,  for  I  want 
thy  assistance  :  draw  near,  and  see  how  many  cheek- 
teeth and  others  I  want,  for  by  the  dreadful  pain  in 
my  jaws  and  gums,  I  fear  there  is  a  total  dilapida- 
tion in  my  mouth."  With  that  the  knight  opened 
his  mouth  as  wide  as  he  could,  while  the  squire  gap- 
ed to  tell  his  grinders,  with  his  snout  almost  in  his 
chaps  ;  but,  just  in  that  fatal  moment,  the  balsam, 
that  lay  wambling  and  fretting  in  Don  Quixote's 
stomach,  came  up  with  an  unlucky  hickup ;  and 
with  the  same  violence  that  the  powder  flies  out  of 
a  gun,  all  that  he  had  in  his  stomach  discharged 
itself  upon  the  beard,  face,  eyes,  and  mouth,  of  the 
officious  squire.  "  Santa  Maria,"  cried  poor  Sancho, 
"what  will  become  of  me!  my  master  is  a  dead 
man !  he  is  vomiting  his  very  heart's  blood ! "  But 
he  had  hardly  said  this,  when  the  color,  smell,  and 
taste,  soon  undeceived  him  ;  and,  finding  it  to  be  his 
master's  loathsome  drench,  it  caused  such  a  sudden 
rumbling  in  his  maw,  that,  before  he  could  turn  his 


DON   QUIXOTE.  187 

head,  he  unladed  the  whole  cargo  of  his  stomach  full 
in  his  master's  face,  and  put  him  in  as  delicate  a 
pickle  as  he  was  himself.  Sancho  having  thus  paid 
him  in  his  own  coin,  half  blinded  as  he  was,  ran  to 
his  ass,  to  take  out  something  to  clean  himself  and 
his  master;  but  when  he  came  to  look  for  his  wal- 
let, and  found  it  missing,  not  remembering  till 
then  that  he  had  unhappily  left  it  in  the  inn,  he  was 
ready  to  run  quite  out  of  his  wits  :  he  stormed  and 
stamped,  and  cursed  him  worse  than  before,  and 
resolved  with  himself  to  let  his  master  go  to  the 
devil,  and  e'en  trudge  home  by  himself,  though  he 
was  sure  to  lose  his  wages,  and  his  hopes  of  being 
governor  of  the  promised  island. 

Thereupon  Don  Quixote  got  up  with  much  ado, 
and  clapping  his  left  hand  before  his  mouth,  that 
the  rest  of  his  loose  teeth  might  not  drop  out,  he 
laid  his  right  hand  on  Rozinante's  bridle  ;  (for  such 
was  the  good-nature  of  the  creature,  that  he  had  not 
budged  a  foot  from  his  master,)  then  he  crept  along 
to  Squire  Sancho,  that  stood  lolling  on  his  ass's 
pannel,  with  his  face  in  the  hollow  of  both  his  hands, 
in  a  doleful  moody  melancholy  fit.  "  Friend  San- 
cho," said  he,  seeing  him  thus  abandoned  to  sorrow, 
u  learn  of  me,  that  one  man  is  no  more  than  another, 
if  he  do  no  more  than  what  another  does.  All  these 
storms  and  hurricanes  are  but  arguments  of  the  ap- 
proaching calm :  better  success  will  soon  follow  our 
past  calamities :  good  and  bad  fortune  have  their 
vicissitudes ;  and  it  is  a  maxim,  that  nothing  violent 
can  last  long  :  and  therefore  we  may  well  promise 
ourselves  a  speedy  change  in  our  fortune,  since 
our  afflictions  have  extended  their  reign  beyond  the 


188  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

usual  stint:  besides,  thou  oughtest  not  to  afflict 
thyself  so  much  for  misfortunes,  of  which  thou  hast 
no  share,  but  what  friendship  and  humanity  bid  thee 
take."  "  How ! "  quoth  Sancho,  "  have  I  no  other 
share  in  them !  was  not  he  that  was  tossed  in  the 
blanket  this  morning  the  son  of  my  father?  and  did 
not  the  wallet,  and  all  that  was  in  it,  which  I  have 
lost,  belong  to  the  son  of  my  mother  ?  "  "  How," 
asked  Don  Quixote,  " hast  thou  lost  thy  wallet?" 
"  I  don't  know,"  said  Sancho,  "  whether  it  is  lost  or 
no,  but  I  am  sure  I  can't  tell  what  is  become  of 
it."  "  Nay  then,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  1  find  we 
must  fast  to-day."  "Ay,  marry  must  we,"  quoth 
Sancho,  "  unless  you  take  care  to  gather  in  these 
fields  some  of  those  roots  and  herbs  which  I  have 
heard  you  say  you  know,  and  which  use  to  help  such 
unlucky  knights-errant  as  yourself  at  a  dead  lift." 
"  For  all  that,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  I  would  rather 
have  at  this  time  a  good  luncheon  of  bread,  or  a 
cake  and  two  pilchards  heads,  than  all  the  roots 
and  simples  in  Dioscorides's  herbal,  and  Doctor  La- 
guna's  supplement  and  commentary.  I  pray  thee 
therefore  get  upon  thy  ass,  good  Sancho,  and  follow 
me  once  more ;  for  God's  providence,  that  relieves 
every  creature,  will  not  fail  us,  especially  since  we 
are  about  a  work  so  much  to  his  service ;  thou  .seest 
he  even  provides  for  the  little  flying  insects  in  the 
air,  the  wormlings  in  the  earth,  and  the  spawnlings 
in  the  water ;  and,  in  his  infinite  mercy,  he  makes 
his  sun  shine  on  the  righteous,  and  on  the  unjust, 
and  rains  upon  the  good  and  the  bad." 

"  Many  words  won't  fill  a  bushel,"  quoth  San- 
cho, interrupting  him  ;  "  you  would  make  a  better 


DON  QUIXOTE.  189 

preacher  than  a  knight-errant,  or  I  am  plaguily  out." 
"  Knights-errant,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  ought  to 
know  all  things  :  there  have  been  such  in  former 
ages,  that  have  delivered  as  ingenious  and  learned 
a  sermon  or  oration  at  the  head  of  an  army,  as  if 
they  had  taken  their  degrees  at  the  university  of 
Paris  :  from  which  we  may  infer,  that  the  lance 
never  dulled  the  pen,  nor  the  pen  the  lance."  — 
"  Well  then,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  for  once  let  it  be  as 
you  would  have  it ;  let  us  even  leave  this  unlucky 
place,  and  seek  out  a  lodging,  where,  I  pray  God, 
there  may  be  neither  blankets,  nor  blanket-heavers, 
nor  hobgoblins,  nor  enchanted  Moors ;  for  before  I 
will  be  hampered  as  I  have  been,  may  I  be  cursed 
with  bell,  book,  and  candle,  if  I  don't  give  the  trade 
to  the  devil."  "  Leave  all  things  to  Providence," 
replied  Don  Quixote,  "  and  for  once  lead  which  way 
thou  pleasest,  for  I  leave  it  wholly  to  thy  discretion 
to  provide  us  a  lodging.  But  first,  I  pray  thee,  feel 
a  little  how  many  teeth  I  want  in  my  upper  jaw  on 
the  right  side,  for  there  I  feel  most  pain."  With 
that  Sancho,  feeling  with  his  finger  in  the  knight's 
mouth,  "  Pray,  sir,"  quoth  he,  "  how  many  grinders 
did  your  worship  use  to  have  on  that  side?" 
"  Four,"  answered  Don  Quixote,  "  besides  the  eye- 
tooth,  all  of  them  whole  and  sound."  "  Think  well 
on  what  you  say,"  cried  Sancho.  "  I  say'  four,"  repli- 
ed Don  Quixote,  "  if  there  were  not  five ;  for  I  never 
in  all  my  life  have  had  a  tooth  drawn  or  dropped 
out,  or  rotted  by  the  worm,  or  loosened  by  rheum." 
"  Bless  me  ! "  quoth  Sancho,  "  why  you  have  in  this 
nether  jaw  on  this  side  but  two  grinders  and  a 
stump  ;  and  in  that  part  of  your  upper  jaw,  never  a 


190  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS  OF 

stump,  and  never  a  grinder;  alas!  all  is  levelled 
there  as  smooth  as  the  palm  of  one's  hand."  "  Oh 
unfortunate  Don  Quixote !  "  cried  the  knight ;  "  I  had 
rather  have  lost  an  arm,  so  it  were  not  my  sword- 
arm  ;  for  a  mouth  without  cheek-teeth  is  like  a  mill 
without  a  mill-stone,  Sancho  ;  and  every  tooth  in  a 
man's  head  is  more  valuable  than  a  diamond.  But 
we  that  profess  this  strict  order  of  knight-errantry, 
are  all  subject  to  these  calamities ;  and  therefore, 
since  the  loss  is  irretrievable,  mount,  my  trusty  San- 
cho, and  go  thy  own  pace  ;  I  will  follow  thee." 

Sancho  obeyed,  and  led  the  way,  still  keeping  the 
road  they  were  in ;  which  being  very  much  beaten, 
promised  to  bring  him  soonest  to  a  lodging.  Thus 
pacing  along  very  softly,  for  Don  Quixote's  gums 
and  ribs  would  not  suffer  him  to  go  faster,  Sancho, 
to  divert  his  uneasy  thoughts,  resolved  to  talk  to 
him  all  the  while  of  one  thing  or  other,  as  the  next 
chapter  will  inform  you. 


CHAPTER   V. 

OP  THE  WISE  DISCOURSE  BETWEEN  SANCHO  AND  HIS 
MASTER;  AS  ALSO  OF  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  DEAD 
CORPSE,  AND  OTHER  FAMOUS  OCCURRENCES. 

"  Now,  sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  I  can't  help  think- 
ing, but  that  all  the  mishaps  that  have  befallen  us 
of  late,  are  a  just  judgment  for  the  grievous  sin  you 
have  committed  against  the  order  of  knighthood,  in 
not  keeping  the  oath  you  swore,  not  to  eat  bread  at 
board,  nor  to  have  a  merry  bout  with  the  queen, 


DON  QUIXOTE.  19] 

and  the  Lord  knows  what  more,  until  you  had  won 
what  d'ye  call  him,  the  Moor's  helmet,  I  think  you 
named  him."  "  Truly,"  answered  Don  Quixote, 
"  thou  art  much  in  the  right,  Sancho  ;  and  to  deal 
ingenuously  with  thee,  I  wholly  forgot  that :  and 
now  thou  may'st  certainly  assure  thyself,  thou  wert 
tost  in  a  blanket  for  not  remembering  to  put  me  in 
mind  of  it.  However,  I  will  take  care  to  make  due 
atonement ;  for  knight-errantry  has  ways  to  con- 
ciliate all  sorts  of  matters."  "Why,"  quoth  Sancho, 
"did  I  ever  swear  to  mind  you  of  your  vow?" 
"  It  is  nothing  to  the  purpose,"  replied  Don  Quix- 
ote, "  whether  thou  sworest  or  no :  let  it  suffice  that 
I  think  thou  art  not  very  clear  from  being  accessory 
to  the  breach  of  my  vow ;  and  therefore  to  prevent 
the  worst,  there  will  be  no  harm  in  providing  for  a 
remedy."  "  Hark  you  then,"  cried  Sancho,  "be 
sure  you  don't  forget  your  atonement,  as  you  did 
your  oath,  lest  those  confounded  hobgoblins  come 
and  maul  me,  and  mayhap  you  too,  for  being  a 
stubborn  sinner." 

Insensibly  night  overtook  them  before  they  could 
discover  any  lodging ;  and,  which  was  worse,  they 
were  almost  hunger-starved,  all  their  provision  be- 
ing in  the  wallet  which  Sancho  had  unluckily  left 
behind;  and  to  complete  their  distress,  there  hap- 
pened to  them  an  adventure,  or  something  that 
really  looked  like  one. 

While  our  benighted  travellers  went  on  dolefully 
in  the  dark,  the  knight  very  hungry,  and  the  squire 
very  sharp  set,  what  should  they  see  moving  towards 
them  but  a  great  number  of  lights,  that  appeared 
like  so  many  wandering  stars.  At  this  strange  ap- 


192  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

parition,  down  sunk  Sancho's  heart  at  once,  and 
even  Don  Quixote  himself  was  not  without  some 
symptoms  of  surprise.  Presently  the  one  pulled  to 
him  his  ass's  halter,  the  other  his  horse's  bridle,  and 
both  made  a  stop.  They  soon  perceived  that  the 
lights  made  directly  towards  them,  and  the  nearer 
they  came  the  bigger  they  appeared.  At  the  terrible 
wonder,  Sancho  shook  and  shivered  every  joint  like 
one  in  a  palsy,  and  Don  Quixote's  hair  stood  up  on 
end :  however,  heroically  shaking  off'  the  amazement 
which  that  sight  stamped  upon  his  soul,  "  Sancho," 
said  he,  "  this  must  doubtless  be  a  great  and  most 
perilous  adventure,  where  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
exert  the  whole  stock  of  my  courage  and  strength." 
"  Woe's  me,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  should  this  happen 
to  be  another  adventure  of  ghosts,  as  I  fear  it  is, 
where  shall  I  find  ribs  to  endure  it?  "  "  Come  all 
the  fiends  in  hell,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  I  will  not 
suffer  them  to  touch  a  hair  of  thy  head.  If  they 
insulted  thee  lately,  know  there  was  then  between 
thee  and  me  a  wall,  over  which  I  could  not  climb ; 
but  now  we  are  in  the  open  field,  where  I  shall  have 
liberty  to  make  use  of  my  sword."  "Ay,"  quoth 
Sancho,  "  you  may  talk  ;  but  should  they  bewitch 
you  as  they  did  before,  what  the  devil  would  it  avail 
us  to  be  in  the  open  field  ?  "  "  Come,  Sancho," 
replied  Don  Quixote,  "  be  of  good  cheer ;  the  event 
will  soon  convince  thee  of  the  greatness  of  my  va- 
lor." "  Pray  heaven  it  may,"  quoth  Sancho ;  "  I 
will  do  my  best." 

With  that  they  rode  a  little  out  of  the  way, 
and,  gazing  earnestly  at  the  lights,  they  soon  dis- 
covered a  great  number  of  persons  all  in  white. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  193 

At  the  dreadful  sight,  all  poor  Sancho's  shuffling 
courage  basely  deserted  him ;  his  teeth  began  to 
chatter  as  if  he  had  been  in  an  ague  fit,  and  as  the 
objects  drew  nearer  his  chattering  increased.  And 
now  they  could  plainly  distinguish  about  twenty 
men  on  horseback,  all  in  white,  with  torches  in  their 
hands,  followed  by  a  hearse  covered  over  with  black, 
and  six  men  in  deep  mourning,  whose  mules  were 
also  in  black  down  to  their  very  heels.  Those  in 
white  moved  slowly,  murmuring  from  their  lips  some- 
thing in  a  low  and  lamentable  tone.  This  dismal 
spectacle,  at  such  a  time  of  night,  in  the  midst  of 
such  avast  solitude,  was  enough  to  have  shipwreck- 
ed the  courage  of  a  stouter  squire  than  Sancho,  and 
even  of  his  master,  had  he  been  any  other  than  Don 
Quixote :  but  as  his  imagination  straight  suggested 
to  him,  that  this  was  one  of  those  adventures  of 
which  he  had  so  often  read  in  his  books  of  chivalry, 
the  hearse  appeared  to  him  to  be  a  litter,  where  lay 
the  body  of  some  knight  either  slain  or  dangerously 
wounded,  the  revenge  of  whose  misfortunes  was 
reserved  for  his  prevailing  arm  ;  and  so  without  any 
more  ado,  couching  his  lance,  and  seating  himself 
firm  in  the  saddle,  he  posted  himself  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  where  the  company  were  to  pass.  As 
soon  as  they  came  near,  "  Stand,"  cried  he  to  them 
in  a  haughty  tone,  "  whoever  you  be,  and  tell  me 
who  you  are,  whence  you  come,  whither  you  go, 
and  what  you  carry  in  that  litter  ?  for  there  is  all  the 
reason  in  the  world  to  believe,  that  you  have  either 
done  or  received  a  great  deal  of  harm  ;  and  it  is  re- 
quisite I  should  be  informed  of  the  matter,  in  order 
either  to  punish  you  for  the  ill  you  have  committed, 
VOL.  i.  13 


194  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

or  else  to  revenge  you  of  the  wrong  you  have  suf- 
fered." "  Sir,"  answered  one  of  the  men  in  white, 
"  we  are  in  haste ;  the  inn  is  a  great  way  off,  and 
we  cannot  stay  to  answer  so  many  questions  ;  "  and 
with  that,  spurring  his  mule,  he  moved  forwards. 
But  Don  Quixote,  highly  dissatisfied  with  the  reply, 
laid  hold  on  the  mule's  bridle  and  stopped  him : 
"  Stay,"  cried  he, "  proud,  discourteous  knight!  Mend 
your  behavior,  and  give  me  instantly  an  account  of 
what  I  asked  of  you,  or  here  I  defy  you  all  to  mor- 
tal combat."  —  Now  the  mule,  that  was  shy  and 
skittish,  being  thus  rudely  seized  by  the  bridle,  was 
presently  scared,  and,  rising  up  on  her  hinder  legs, 
threw  her  rider  to  the  ground.  Upon  this  one  of  the 
footmen  that  belonged  to  the  company  gave  Don 
Quixote  ill  language  ;  which  so  incensed  him,  that, 
being  resolved  to  be  revenged  upon  them  all,  in  a 
mighty  rage  he  flew  at  the  next  he  met,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  one  of  the  mourners.  Him  he  threw  to 
the  ground  very  much  hurt ;  and  then  turning  to 
the  rest  with  a  wonderful  agility,  he  fell  upon  them 
with  such  fury,  that  he  presently  put  them  all  to 
flight.  You  would  have  thought  Rozinante  had 
wings  at  that  time,  so  active  and  so  fierce  he  then 
approved  himself. 

It  was  not  indeed  for  men  unarmed,  and  naturally 
fearful,  to  maintain  the  field  against  such  an  enemy ; 
no  wonder  then  if  the  gentlemep  in  white  were  im- 
mediately dispersed.  Some  ran  one  way,  some  an 
other,  crossing  the  plain  with  their  lighted  torches  , 
you  would  now  have  taken  them  for  a  parcel  of 
frolicsome  masqueraders,  gambling  and  scouring  on 
a  carnival  night.  As  for  the  mourners,  they,  poor 


DON  QUIXOTE.  195 

men,  were  so  muffled  up  in  their  long  cumbersome 
cloaks,  that,  not  being  able  to  make  their  party 
good,  nor  defend  themselves,  they  were  presently 
routed,  and  ran  away  like  the  rest,  the  rather,  for 
that  they  thought  it  was  no  mortal  creature,  but  the 
devil  himself,  that  was  come  to  fetch  away  the  dead 
body  which  they  were  accompanying  to  the  grave. 
All  the  while  Sancho  was  lost  in  admiration  and 
astonishment,  charmed  with  the  sight  of  his  master's 
valor ;  and  now  concluded  him  to  be  the  formidable 
champion  he  boasted  himself. 

After  this  the  knight,  by  the  light  of  a  torch  that 
lay  burning  upon  the  ground,  perceiving  the  man 
who  was  thrown  by  his  mule  lying  near  it,  he  rode 
up  to  him,  and,  setting  his  lance  to  his  throat 
"  Yield,"  cried  he,  "  and  beg  thy  life,  or  thou  diest." 
"  Alas,  sir,"  cried  the  other,  "  what  need  you  ask 
rne  to  yield  ?  I  am  not  able  to  stir,  for  one  of  my 
legs  is  broken ;  and  I  beseech  you,  if  you  are  a 
Christian,  do  not  kill  me.  I  am  a  master  of  arts, 
and  in  holy  orders;  it  would  be  a  heinous  sacrilege 
to  take  away  my  life."  "  What  a  devil  brought  you 
hither  then,  if  you  are  a  clergyman  ?  "  cried  Don 
Quixote.  "  What  else  but  my  ill  fortune  ?  "  replied 
the  supplicant.  "A  worse  hovers  over  thy  head," 
cried  Don  Quixote,  "  and  threatens  thee,  if  thou  dost 
not  answer  this  moment  to  every  particular  ques- 
tion I  ask."  "  I  will,  I  will,  sir,"  replied  the  other; 
"  and  first  I  must  beg  your  pardon  for  saying  I  was 
a  master  of  arts,  for  I  have  yet  but  taken  my  bache- 
lor's degree.  My  name  is  Alonzo  Lopez  :  I  am  of 
Alcovendas,  and  came  now  from  the  town  of  Baeza, 
with  eleven  other  clergymen,  the  same  that  now  ran 


196  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

away  with  the  torches.  We  were  going  to  Segovia 
to  bury  the  corpse  of  a  gentleman  of  that  town,  who 
died  at  Baeza,  and  lies  now  in  yonder  hearse." 
"And  who  killed  him?"  asked  Don  Quixote. — 
"  Heaven,  with  a  pestilential  fever,"  answered  the 
other.  "  If  it  be  so,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  I  am 
discharged  of  revenging  his  death.  Since  Heaven 
did  it,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said ;  had  it  been  its 
pleasure  to  have  taken  me  off  so,  I  too  must  have 
submitted.  I  would  have  you  informed,  reverend 
sir,  that  I  am  a  knight  of  La  Mancha,  my  name 
Don  Quixote ;  my  employment  is  to  visit  all  parts  of 
the  world  in  quest  of  adventures,  to  right  and  relieve 
injured  innocence,  and  punish  oppression."  "  Truly, 
sir,"  replied  the  clergyman,  "  I  do  not  understand 
how  you  can  call  that  to  right  and  relieve  men, 
when  you  break  their  legs :  you  have  made  that 
crooked  which  was  right  and  straight  before ;  and 
heaven  knows  whether  it  can  ever  be  set  right 
as  long  as  I  live.  Instead  of  relieving  the  injured, 
I  fear  you  have  injured  me  past  relief ;  and  while 
you  seek  adventures,  you  have  made  me  meet  with 
a  very  great  misadventure."  *  "All  things,"  replied 
Don  Quixote,  "  are  not  blessed  alike  with  a  pros- 
perous event,  good  Mr.  Bachelor  :  you  should  have 
taken  care  not  to  have  thus  gone  a  processioning  in 
these  desolate  plains  at  this  suspicious  time  of  night, 
with  your  white  surplices,  burning  torches,  and  sable 
weeds,  like  ghosts  and  goblins,  that  went  about  to 

*  The  author's  making  the  bachelor  quibble  so  much,  under 
such  improper  circumstances,  was  designed  as  a  ridicule  upon 
the  younger  students  of  the  universities,  who  are  apt  to  indulge 
in  this  species  of  wit. 


DON  QUIXOTE.         a  197 

scare  people  out  of  their  wits  :  for  I  could  not  omit 
doing  the  duty  of  my  profession,  nor  would  I  have 
forborne  attacking  you,  though  you  had  really  been 
all  Lucifer's  infernal  crew ;  for  such  I  took  you  to 
be,  and  till  this  moment  could  have  no  better  opi- 
nion of  you." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  bachelor,  '»  since  my  bad 
fortune  has  so  ordered  it,  I  must  desire  you,  as  you 
are  a  knight-errant,  who  have  made  mine  so  ill  an 
errand,  to  help  me  to  get  from  under  rny  mule,  for 
it  lies  so  heavy  upon  me,  that  I  cannot  get  my  foot 
out  of  the  stirrup."  "  Why  did  not  you  acquaint 
me  sooner  with  your  grievance  ?  "  cried  Don  Quix- 
ote ;  "  I  might  have  talked  on  till  to-morrow  morn- 
ing and  never  have  thought  on  it."  With  that  he 
called  Sancho,  who  made  no  great  haste,  for  he  was 
much  better  employed  in  rifling  a  load  of  choice 
provisions,  which  the  holy  men  carried  along  with 
them  on  a  surnpter-mule.  He  had  spread  his  coat 
on  the  ground,  and  having  laid  on  it  as  much  food 
as  it  would  hold,  he  wrapped  it  up  like  a  bag,  and 
laid  the  booty  on  his  ass ;  and  then  away  he  ran  to 
his  master,  and  helped  him  to  set  the  bachelor  upon 
his  mule :  after  which  he  gave  him  his  torch,  and 
Don  Quixote  bade  him  follow  his  company,  and 
excuse  him  for  his  mistake,  though,  all  things  consi- 
dered, he  could  not  avoid  doing  what  he  had  done. 
"Arid,  sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "if  the  gentlemen  would 
know  who  it  was  that  so  well  threshed  their  jackets, 
you  may  tell  them  it  was  the  famous  Don  Quixote 
de  la  Mancha,  otherwise  called  the  Knight  of  the 
Woful  Figure." 

When  the  bachelor  was  gone,  Don  Quixote  ask- 


198  .THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

ed  Sancho  why  he  called  him  the  Knight  of  the 
Woful  Figure  ?  «  I'll  tell  you  why,"  quoth  San- 
cho ;  "  I  have  been  staring  upon  you  this  pretty 
while  by  the  light  of  that  unlucky  priest's  torch,  and 
may  I  never  stir  if  ever  I  set  eyes  on  a  more  dismal 
figure  in  my  born  days  ;  and  I  can't  tell  what  should 
be  the  cause  on't,  unless  your  being  tired  after  this 
fray,  or  the  want  of  your  worship's  teeth."  "  That 
is  not  the  reason,"  cried  Don  Quixote ;  "no,  San- 
cho, I  rather  conjecture  that  the  sage  who  is  com- 
missioned by  fate  to  register  my  achievements, 
thought  it  convenient  I  should  assume  a  new  appel- 
lation, as  all  the  knights  of  yore  ;  for  one  was  called 
the  Knight  of  the  Burning  Sword,  another  of  the 
Unicorn,  a  third  of  the  Phrenix,  a  fourth  the  Knight 
of  the  Damsels,  another  of  the  Griffin,  and  another 
the  Knight  of  Death ;  by  which  by-names  and  distinc- 
tions they  were  known  all  over  the  globe.  There- 
fore, doubtless,  that  learned  sage,  my  historian,  has 
inspired  thee  with  the  thought  of  giving  me  that 
additional  appellation  of  the  Knight  of  the  Woful 
Figure  :  and  accordingly  I  assume  the  name,  and 
intend  henceforward  to  be  distinguished  by  that 
denomination.  And,  that  it  may  seem  the  more 
proper,  I  will  with  the  first  opportunity  have  a  most 
woful  face  painted  on  my  shield."  "  On  my 
word,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  you  may  even  save  the 
money,  and  instead  of  having  a  woful  face  painted) 
you  need  no  more  but  only  show  your  own.  I  am 
but  in  jest,  as  a  body  may  say  ;  but  what  with  the 
want  of  your  teeth,  and  what  with  hunger,  you  look 
BO  queerly  and  so  wofully,  that  no  painter  can  draw 
you  a  figure  so  fit  for  your  purpose  as  your  wor- 


DON   QUIXOTE.        „  199 

ship's."  This  merry  conceit  of  Sancho  extorted  a 
smile  from  his  master's  austere  countenance :  how- 
ever, he  persisted  in  his  resolution  about  the  name 
and  the  picture  ;  and  after  a  pause,  a  sudden  thought 
disturbing  his  conscience,  "  Sancho,"  cried  he,  "  I 
am  afraid  of  being  excommunicated  for  having  laid 
violent  hands  upon  a  man  in  holy  orders,  Juxta 
illud;  si  quis  suadente  diabolo,  &c.  But  yet,  now 
I  think  better  on  it,  I  never  touched  him  with  rny 
hands,  but  only  with  my  lance ;  besides,  I  did  not 
in  the  least  suspect  I  had  to  do  with  priests,  whom 
I  honor  and  revere  as  every  good  Catholic  and 
faithful  Christian  ought  to  do,  but  rather  took  them 
to  be  evil  spirits.  Well,  let  the  worst  come  to  the 
worst,  I  remember  what  befell  the  Cid  Ruy-Dias, 
when  he  broke  to  pieces  the  chair  of  a  king's  am- 
bassador in  the  pope's  presence,  for  which  he  was 
excommunicated ;  which  did  not  hinder  the  worthy 
Rodrigo  de  Vivar  from  behaving  himself  that  day 
like  a  valorous  knight,  and  a  man  of  honor." 

This  said,  Don  Quixote  was  for  visiting  the  hearse, 
to  see  whether  what  was  in  it  were  only  dead  bones ; 
but  Sancho  would  not  let  him.  "  Sir,"  quoth  he, 
"  you  are  come  off  now  with  a  whole  skin,  and 
much  better  than  you  have  done  hitherto.  Who 
knows  but  these  same  fellows  that  are  now  scam- 
pered off,  may  chance  to  bethink  themselves  what  a 
shame  it  is  for  them  to  have  suffered  themselves  to 
be  thus  routed  by  a  single  man,  and  so  come  back, 
and  fall  upon  us  all  at  once  ?  Then  we  shall  have 
vvork  eoough  upon  our  hands.  The  ass  is  in  good 
case ;  there's  a  hill  not  far  off,  and  our  bellies  cry 
cupboard.  Come,  let  us  even  get  out  of  harm's 


200  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

way,  and  not  let  the  plough  stand  to  catch  a  mouse, 
as  the  saying  is ;  to  the  grave  with  the  dead,  and 
the  living  to  the  bread."  With  that  he  put  on  a 
dog-trot  with  his  ass;  and  his  master,  bethinking 
himself  that  he  was  in  the  right,  put  on  after  him 
without  replying. 

After  they  had  rid  a  little  way,  they  carne  to  a 
valley  that  lay  skulking  between  two  hills.  There 
they  alighted,  and  Sancho  having  opened  his  coat 
and  spread  it  on  the  grass,  with  the  provision  which 
he  had  bundled  up  in  it,  our  two  adventurers  fell 
to ;  and  their  stomachs  being  sharpened  with  the 
sauce  of  hunger,  they  eat  their  breakfast,  dinner, 
afternoon's  luncheon,  and  supper,  all  at  the  same 
time,  feasting  themselves  with  variety  of  cold  meats, 
which  you  may  be  sure  were  the  best  that  could  be 
got ;  the  priests  who  had  brought  it  for  their  own 
eating,  being  like  the  rest  of  their  coat,  none  of  the 
worst  stewards  for  their  bellies,  and  knowing  how 
to  make  much  of  themselves. 

But  now  they  began  to  grow  sensible  of  a  very 
great  misfortune,  and  such  a  misfortune  as  was  be- 
moaned by  poor  Sancho,  as  one  of  the  saddest  that 
ever  could  befall  him ;  for  they  found  they  had  not 
one  drop  of  wine  or  water  to  wash  down  their  meat 
and  quench  their  thirst,  which  now  scorched  and 
choaked  them  worse  than  hunger  had  pinched  them 
before.  However,  Sancho,  considering  they  were 
in  a  place  where  the  grass  was  fresh  and  green,  said 
to  his  master what  you  shall  find  in  the  follow- 
ing chapter. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  201 


CHAPTER  VI. 

OP  A  WONDERFUL  ADVENTURE  ACHIEVED  BY  THE  VALOROUS 
DON  QUIXOTE  DE  LA  MANCHA  J  THE  LIKE  NEVER  COM- 
PASSED WITH  LESS  DANGER  BY  ANY  OF  THE  MOST  FAMOUS 
KNIGHTS  IN  THE  WORLD. 

"  THE  grass  is  so  fresh,"  quoth  Sancho,  half 
choaked  with  thirst,  "  that  I  dare  lay  my  life  we 
shall  light  of  some,  spring  or  stream  hereabouts  ; 
therefore,  sir,  let  us  look,  I  beseech  you,  that  we 
may  quench  this  confounded  drought,  that  plagues 
our  throats  ten  times  worse  than  hunger  did  our 
guts."  Thereupon  Don  Quixote,  leading  Rozinante 
by  the  bridle,  and  Sancho  his  ass  by  the  halter,  after 
he  had  laid  up  the  reversion  of  their  meal,  they  went 
feeling  about,  only  guided  by  their  guess;  for  it 
was  so  dark  they  scarce  could  see  their  hands. 
They  had  not  gone  above  two  hundred  paces  before 
they  heard  a  noise  of  a  great  waterfall ;  which  was 
to  them  the  most  welcome  sound  in  the  world  :  but 
then  listening  with  great  attention  to  know  on  which- 
side  the  grateful  murmur  came,  they  on  a  sudden 
heard  another  kind  of  noise  that  strangely  allayed 
the  pleasure  of  the  first,  especially  in  Sancho,  who 
was  naturally  fearful,  and  pusillanimous.  They 
heard  a  terrible  din  of  obstreperous  blows,  struck 
regularly,  and  a  more  dreadful  rattling  of  chains 
and  irons,  which,  together  with  the  roaring  of  the 
waters,  might  have  filled  any  other  heart  but  Don 
Quixote's  with  terror  and  amazement.  Add  to  this 
the  horrors  of  a  dark  night  and  solitude,  in  an  un- 


202  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

known  place,  the  loud  rustling  of  the  leaves  of  some 
lofty  trees  under  which  fortune  brought  them  at  the 
same  unlucky  moment,  the  whistling  of  the  wind, 
which  concurred  with  the  other  dismaying  sounds  ; 
the  fall  of  the  waters,  the  thundering  thumps,  and 
the  clanking  of  chains  aforesaid.  The  worst,  too, 
was,  that  the  blows  were  redoubled  without  ceasing, 
the  wind  blowed  on,  and  daylight  was  far  distant. 
But  then  it  was  Don  Quixote,  secured  by  his  intre- 
pidity (his  inseparable  companion,)  mounted  his 
Rozinante,  braced  his  shield,  brandished  his  lance, 
and  showed  a  soul  unknowing  fear,  and  superior  to 
danger  and  fortune. 

"  Know,  Sancho,"  cried  he,  "  I  was  born  in  this 
iron  age,  to  restore  the  age  of  gold,  or  the  golden 
age,  as  some  choose  to  call  it.  I  am  the  man  for 
whom  fate  has  reserved  the  most  dangerous  and 
formidable  attempts,  the  most  stupendous  and  glo- 
rious adventures,  and  the  most  valorous  feats  of 
arms.  I  am  the  man  who  must  revive  the  order  of 
the  Round  Table,  the  twelve  peers  of  France,  and 
the  nine  worthies,  and  efface  the  memory  of  your 
JPlatyrs,  your  Tablantes,  your  Olivantes,  and  your 
Tirantes.  Now  must  your  Knights  of  the  Sun,  your 
Belianises,  and  all  the  numerous  throng  of  famous 
heroes,  and  knights-errant  of  former  ages,  see  the 
glory  of  all  their  most  dazzling  actions  eclipsed  and 
darkened  by  more  illustrious  exploits.  Do  but  ob- 
serve, O  thou  my  faithful  squire,  what  a  multifarious 
assemblage  of  terrors  surrounds  us !  A  horrid  dark- 
ness, a  doleful  solitude,  a  confused  rustling  of 
leaves,  a  dismal  rattling  of  chains,  a  howling  of  the 
winds,  an  astonishing  noise  of  cataracts,  that  seem 


DON  QUIXOTE.  203 

to  fall  with  a  boisterous  rapidity  from  the  steep 
mountains  of  the  moon,  a  terrible  sound  of  redou- 
bled blows,  still  wounding  our  ears  like  furious 
thunderclaps,  and  a  dead  and*  universal  silence  of 
those  things  that  might  buoy  up  the  sinking  courage 
of  frail  mortality.  In  this  extremity  of  danger,  Mars 
himself  might  tremble  with  the  affright :  yet  I,  in 
the  midst  of  all  these  unutterable  alarms,  still  re- 
main undaunted  and  unshaken.  These  are  but  in- 
centives to  my  valor,  and  but  animate  my  heart 
the  more ;  it  grows  too  big  and  mighty  for  my  breast, 
and  leaps  at  the  approach  of  this  threatening  ad- 
venture, as  formidable  as  it  is  like  to  prove.  Come, 
girt  Rozinante  straiter,  and  then  Providence  pro- 
tect thee :  thou  mayest  stay  for  me  here ;  but  if  I  do 
not  return  in  three  days,  go  back  to  our  village  ; 
and  from  thence,  for  my  sake,  to  Toboso,  where 
thou  shalt  say  to  my  incomparable  Lady  Dulcinea, 
that  her  faithful  knight  fell  a  sacrifice  to  love  and 
honor,  while  he  attempted  things  that  might  have 
made  him  worthy  to  be  called  her  adorer." 

When  Sancho  heard  his  master  talk  thus,  he  fell 
a  weeping  in  the  most  pitiful  manner  in  the  world. 
"  Pray,  sir,"  cried  he,  "why  will  you  thus  run  your- 
self into  mischief?  Why  need  you  go  about  this 
rueful  misventure  ?  It  is  main  dark,  and  there  is 
never  a  living  soul  sees  us  ;  we  have  nothing  to  do 
but  to  sheer  off,  and  get  out  of  harm's  way,  though 
we  were  not  to  drink  a  drop  these  three  days.  Who 
is  there  to  take  notice  of  our  flinching?  I  have 
heard  our  parson,  whom  you  very  well  know,  say 
in  his  pulpit,  that  he  who  seeks  danger,  perishes 
therein  :  and  therefore  we  should  not  tempt  hea- 


204  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OP 

ven  by  going  about  a  thing  that  we  cannot  com- 
pass but  by  a  miracle.  Is  it  not  enough,  think 
you,  that  it  has  preserved  you  from  being  tossed 
in  a  blanket  as  I  was^and  made  you  come  off  safe 
and  sound  from  among  so  many  goblins  that  went 
with  the  dead  man  ?  If  all  this  won't  work  upon 
that  hard  heart  of  yours,  do  but  think  of  me,  and 
rest  yourself  assured,  that  when  once  you  have  left 
your  poor  Sancho,  he  will  be  ready  to  give  up  the 
ghost  for  very  fear,  to  the  next  that  will  come  for 
it :  I  left  my  house  and  home,  my  wife,  children, 
and  all  to  follow  you,  hoping  to  be  the  better  for 
it,  and  not  the  worse  ;  but  as  covetousness  breaks 
the  sack,  so  "has  it  broke  me  and  my  hopes  ;  for 
while  I  thought  myself  cocksure  of  that  unlucky 
and  accursed  island,  which  you  so  often  promised 
me,  in  lieu  thereof  you  drop  me  here  in  a  strange 
place.  Dear  master,  don't  be  so  hardhearted;  and 
if  you  won't  be  persuaded  not  to  meddle  with  this 
ungracious  adventure,  do  but  put  it  off  till  day- 
break, to  which,  according  to  the  little  skill  I  learned 
when  a  shepherd,  it  cannot  be  above  three  hours ; 
for  the  muzzle  of  the  lesser  bear  is  just  over  our 
heads,  and  makes  midnight  in  the  line  of  the  left 
arm."  "  How !  canst  thou  see  the  muzzle  of  the 
bear?"  asked  Don  Quixote;  "there's  not  a  star  to 
be  seen  in  the  sky."  "  That's  true,"  quoth  Sancho ; 
"  but  fear  is  sharp-sighted,  and  can  see  things  under 
ground,  and  much  more  in  the  skies."  "  Let  day 
come,  or  not  come,  it  is  all  one  to  me,"  cried  the 
champion ;  "  it  shall  never  be  recorded  of  Don 
Quixote,  that  either  tears  or  entreaties  could  make 
him  neglect  the  duty  of  a  knight.  Then,  Sancho, 


DON  QUIXOTE.  205 

say  no  more  ;  for  heaven,  that  has  inspired  me  with 
a  resolution  of  attempting  this  dreadful  adventure, 
will  certainly  take  care  of  me  and  thee  :  come 
quickly,  girt,  my  steed,  and  stay  here  for  me  ;  for  you 
will  shortly  hear  of  me  again,  either  alive  or  dead." 
Sancho,  finding  his  master  obstinate,  and  neither 
to  be  moved  with  tears  nor  good  advice,  resolved 
to  try  a  trick  of  policy  to  keep  him  there  till  day- 
light :  and  accordingly,  while  he  pretended  to  fasten 
the  girths,  he  slily  tied  Rozinante's  hinder-legs  with 
his  ass's  halter,  without  being  so  much  as  sus- 
pected :  so  that  when  Don  Quixote  thought  to  have 
moved  forwards,  he  found  his  horse  would  not  go 
a  step  without  leaping,  though  he  spurred  him  on 
smartly.  Sancho,  perceiving  his  plot  took,  "  Look 
you,  sir,"  quoth  he,  "  heaven's  on  my  side,  and 
won't  let  Rozinante  budge  a  foot  forwards;  and 
now  if  you  will  still  be  spurring  him,  I  dare  pawn 
my  life,  it  will  be  but  striving  against  the  stream  ; 
or,  as  the  saying  is,  but  kicking  against  the  pricks." 
Don  Quixote  fretted,  and  chafed,  and  raved,  and 
was  in  a  desperate  fury,  to  find  his  horse  so  stub- 
born ;  but  at  last,  observing  that  the  more  he  spur- 
red and  galled  his  sides,  the  more  restive  h»e  proved, 
he  resolved,  though  very  unwillingly,  to  have  pa- 
tience until  it  was  light.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  since 
Rozinante  will  not  leave  this  place,  I  must  tarry  in 
it  until  the  dawn,  though  its  slowness  will  cost  me 
some  sighs."  "  You  shall  not  need  to  sigh  nor  be 
melancholy,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  for  I  will  undertake 
to  tell  you  stories  until  it  be  day;  unless  your  wor- 
ship had  rather  get  off  your  horse,  and  take  a  nap 
upon  the  green  grass,  as  knights-errant  are  wont, 


206  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

that  you  may  be  the  fresher,  and  the  better  able  in 
the  morning  to  go  through  that  monstrous  adven- 
ture that  waits  for  you."  "  What  dost  thou  mean 
by  thus  alighting  and  sleeping?"  replied  Don 
Quixote;  "thinkest  thou  I  am  one  of  those  carpet- 
knights,  that  abandon  themselves  to  sleep  and  lazy 
ease,  when  danger  is  at  hand  ?  no,  sleep  thou,  thou 
art  born  to  sleep ;  or  do  what  thou  wilt.  As  for 
myself,  I  know  what  I  have  to  do."  "  Good  sir," 
quoth  Sancho,  "  do  not  put  yourself  into  a  passion ; 
I  meant  no  such  thing,  not  I."  Saying  this,  he 
clapped  one  of  his  hands  upon  the  pommel  of  Ro- 
zinante's  saddle,  and  the  other  upon  the  crupper, 
and  thus  he  stood  embracing  his  master's  left  thigh, 
not  daring  to  budge  an  inch,  for  fear  of  the  blows 
that  dinned  continually  in  his  ears.  Don  Quixote 
then  thought  fit  to  claim  his  promise,  and  desired 
him  to  tell  some  of  his  stories  to  help  to  pass  away 
the  time. 

"  Sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  I  am  wofully  frighted, 
and  have  no  heart  to  tell  stories ;  however,  I  will 
do  my  best;  and,  now  I  think  on  it,  there  is  one 
come  into  my  head,  which  if  I  can  but  hit  on  it 
right,  and  nothing  happens  to  put  me  out,  is  the 
best  story  you  ever  heard  in  your  life;  therefore 
listen,  for  I  am  going  to  begin.  —  In  the  days  of 
yore,  when  it  was  as  it  was,  good  betide  us  all  and 
evil  to  him  that  evil  seeks.  And  here,  sir,  you  are 
to  take  notice  that  they  of  old  did  not  begin  their 
tales  in  an  ordinary  way ;  for  it  was  a  saying  of  a 
wise  man  whom  they  called  Cato  the  Roman  Ton- 
Bor,*  that  said,  Evil  to  him  that  evil  seeks,  which 
*  A  mistake  for  Cato,  the  Roman  Censor. 


DON    QUIXOTE.  207 

is  as  pat  for  your  purpose  as  a  ring  for  the  finger, 
that  you  may  neither  meddle  nor  make,  nor  seek 
evil  and  mischief  for  the  nonce,  but  rather  get  out 
of  harm's  way,  for  nobody  forces  us  to  run  into  the 
mouth  of  all  the  devils  in  hell  that  wait  for  us  yon- 
der." "  Go  on  with  the  story,  Sancho,"  cried  Don 
Quixote,  "  and  leave  the  rest  to  my  discretion."  —  "  I 
say  then,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  that  in  a  country  town 
in  Estremadura,  there  lived  a  certain  shepherd, 
goat-herd  I  should  have  said ;  which  goat-herd,  as 
the  story  has  it,  was  called  Lope  Ruyz ;  and  this 
Lope  Ruyz  was  in  love  with  a  shepherdess,  whose 
name  was  Toralva ;  the  which  shepherdess,  whose 
name  was  Toralva,  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy 

grazier;    and   this  wealthy   grazier" "If  thou 

goest  on  at  this  rate,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  and 
makest  so  many  needless  repetitions,  thou  wilt  not 
have  told  thy  story  these  two  days.  Pray  thee  tell  it 
concisely,  and  like  a  man  of  sense,  or  let  it  alone." 
"  I  tell  it  you,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  as  all  stories  are 
told  in  our  country,  and  I  cannot  for  the  blood  of 
me  tell  it  in  any  other  way,  nor  is  it  fit  I  should 
alter  the  custom."  "  Why  then  tell  it  how  thou 
wilt,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  since  my  ill  fortune 
forces  me  to  stay  and  hear  thee." 

"  Well  then,  dear  sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  as  1  was 
saying,  this  same  shepherd  —  goat-herd  I  should 
have  said  —  was  woundily  in  love  with  that  same 
shepherdess  Toralva,  who  was  a  well  trussed,  round, 
crummy,  strapping  wench,  coy  and  foppish  and 
gomewhat  like  a  man,  for  she  had  a  kind  of  beard 
on  her  upper  lip ;  methinks  I  see  her  now  standing 
before  me."  "  Then  I  suppose  thou  knewest  her," 


208  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

said  Don  Quixote.  "  Not  I,"  answered  Sancho,  "  I 
never  set  eyes  on  her  in  my  life ;  but  he  that  told 
me  the  story  said  this  was  so  true,  that  I  might 
vouch  it  for  a  real  truth,  and  even  swear  I  had  seen 

it  all  myself.    Well, but,  as  you  know,  days  go 

and  come,  and  time  and  straw  makes  medlars  ripe ; 
so  it  happened,  that  after  several  days  coming  and 
going,  the  devil,  who  seldom  lies  dead  in  a  ditch, 
but  will  have  a  finger  in  every  pie,  so  brought  it 
about,  that  the  shepherd  set  out  with  his  sweetheart, 
insomuch  that  the  love  he  bore  her  turned  into  dud- 
geon and  ill  will ;  and  the  cause  was,  by  report  of 
some  mischievous  tale-carriers  that  bore  no  good 
will  to  either  party,  for  that  the  shepherd  thought 
her  no  better  than  she  should  be,  a  little  loose  in 
the  hilts,  and  free  of  her  hips.*  Thereupon  being 
grievous  in  the  dumps  about  it,  and  now  bitterly 
hating  her,  he  even  resolved  to  leave  that  country 
to  get  out  of  her  sight :  for  now,  as  every  dog  has 
his  day,  the  wench  perceiving  he  came  no  longer  a 
suitoring  to  her,  but  rather  tossed  his  nose  at  her, 
and  shunned  her,  she  began  to  love  him  and  doat 
upon  him  like  any  thing."  "  That  is  the  nature  of 
women,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  not  to  love  when  we 
love  them,  and  to  love  when  we  love  them  not.  But 
go  on." 

"  The  shepherd  then  gave  her  the  slip,"  continued 
Sancho,  "  and  driving  his  goats  before  him,  went 

*  In  the  original  it  runs,  She  gave  him  a  certain  quantity  of 
little  jealousies,  above  measure,  and  within  the  prohibited  de- 
grees: alluding  to  certain  measures  not  to  be  exceeded  (in 
Spain)  on  pain  of  forfeiture  and  corporal  punishment,  as  swords 
above  such  a  standard,  &c. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  209 

trudging  through  Estremadura,  in  his  way  to  Por- 
tugal. But  Toralva,  having  a  long  nose,  soon  smelt 
his  design,  and  then  what  does  she  do,  think  ye,  but 
comes  after  him  barefoot  and  barelegged,  with  a 
pilgrim's  staff  in  her  hand,  and  a  wallet  at  her  back, 
wherein  they  say  she  carried  a  piece  of  looking- 
glass,  half  a  comb,  a  broken  pot  with  paint,  and  I 
don't  know  what  other  trinkum-trankums  to  prink 
herself  up.  But  let  her  carry  what  she  would,  it  is 
no  bread  and  butter  of  mine  ;  the  short  and  the  long 
is,  that  they  say  the  shepherd  with  his  goats  got  at 
last  to  the  river  Guadiana,  which  happened  to  be 
overflowed  at  that  time,  and  what  was  worse  than 
ill  luck,  there  was  neither  boat  nor  bark  to  ferry  him 
over  ;  which  vexed  him  the  more  because  he  perceiv- 
ed Teralva  at  his  heels,  and  he  feared  to  be  teased 
and  plagued  with  her  weeping  and  wailing.  At  last 
he  spied  a  fisherman,  in  a  little  boat,  but  so  little  it 
was,  that  it  would  carry  but  one  man  and  one  goat 
at  a  time.  Well,  for  all  that,  he  called  to  the  fisher- 
man, and  agreed  with  him  to  carry  him  and  his 
three  hundred  goats  over  the  water.  The  bargain 
being  struck,  the  fisherman  came  with  his  boat,  and 
carried  over  one  goat ;  then  he  rowed  back  and 
fetched  another  goat,  and  after  that  another  goat. 
Pray  sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "be  sure  you  keep  a  good 
account  how  many  goats  the  fisherman  ferries  over; 
for  if  you  happen  but  to  miss  one,  my  tale  is  at  an 
end,  and  the  devil  a  word  I  have  more  to  say.  Well 
then,  whereabouts  was  I?  Ho!  I  ha't — Now  the 
landing-place  on  the  other  side  was  very  muddy  and 
slippery,  which  made  the  fisherman  be  a  long  while 
in  going  and  coming ;  yet  for  all  that,  he  look  heart 
VOL.  i.  14 


210  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

of  grace,  and  made  shift  to  carry  over  one  goat, 
then  another,  and  then  another."  "  Come,"  said  Don 
Quixote,  "we  will  suppose  he  has  landed  them  all 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river ;  for  as  thou  goest  on, 
one  by  one,  we  shall  not  have  done  these  twelve 
months."  "  Pray,  let  me  go  on  in  my  own  way," 
quoth  Sancho.  "  How  many  goats  are  got  over  al- 
ready ?"  "Nay,  how  the  devil  can  I  tell?"  replied 
Don  Quixote.  "  There  it  is  ! "  quoth  Sancho  ;  "  did 
not  I  bid  you  keep  count  ?  on  my  word  the  tale  is 
at  an  end,  and  now  you  may  go  whistle  for  the 
rest."  "  Ridiculous,"  cried  Don  Quixote :  "  pray  thee 
is  there  no  going  on  with  the  story  unless  I  know 
exactly  how  many  goats  are  wafted  over  ?  "  "  No, 
marry  is  there  not,"  quoth  Sancho,  "for  as  soon  as 
you  answered,  that  you  could  not  tell,  the  rest  of 
the  story  quite  and  clean  slipped  out  of  my  head  ; 
and  in  troth  it  is  a  thousand  pities,  for  it  was  a  spe- 
cial one."  "  So  then," cried  Don  Quixote, "the  story's 
ended?"  "Ay,  marry  is  it,"  quoth  Sancho,  "it  is  no 
more  to  be  fetched  to  life  than  my  dead  mother." 
"  Upon  my  honor,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  a  most  ex- 
traordinary story,  and  told  and  concluded  in  as  ex- 
traordinary a  manner!  it  is  a  nonsuch,  I  assure  ye; 
though  truly  I  expected  no  less  from  a  man  of  such 
uncommon  parts.  Alas !  poor  Sancho,  I  am  afraid 
this  dreadful  noise  has  turned  thy  brain."  "  That 
may  well  be,"  quoth  Sancho  ;  "but  as  for  my  story 
I  am  sure  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said,  for 
where  you  lose  the  account  of  the  goats,  there  it 
ends."  "  Let  it  be  so,"  replied  Don  Quixote  ;  "  but 
now  let  us  try  whether  Rozinante  be  in  humor  to 
march. "  With  that  he  gave  Rozinante  two  spurs, 


DON   QUIXOTE.  211 

and  the  high-mettled  jade  answered  with  one  bound, 
and  then  stood  stock  still,  not  having  the  command 
of  his  hind  legs. 

Much  about  this  time,  whether  it  were  the  cool- 
ness of  the  night,  or  that  Sancho  had  eaten  some 
loosening  food  at  supper,  or,  which  seems  more  pro- 
bable, that  nature,  by  a  regular  impulse,  gave  him 
notice  of  her  desire  to  perform  a  certain  function 
that  follows  the  third  concoction ;  it  seems,  honest 
Sancho  found  himself  urged  to  do  that  which  no- 
body could  do  for  him  ;  but  such  were  his  fears  that 
he  durst  not  for  his  life  stir  the  breadth  of  a  straw 
from  his  master ;  yet  to  think  of  bearing  the  intoler- 
able load  that  pressed  him  so,  was  to  him  as  great 
an  impossibility.  In  this  perplexing  exigency  (with 
leave  be  it  spoken)  he  could  find  no  other  expedient 
but  to  take  his  right  hand  from  the  crupper  of  the 
saddle,  and  softly  untying  his  breeches,  let  them 
drop  down  to  his  heels;  having  done  this,  he  as 
silently  took  up  his  shirt,  and  exposed  his  posteriors, 
which  were  none  of  the  least,  to  the  open  air;  but 
the  main  point  was  how  to  ease  himself  of  this  ter- 
rible burden  without  making  a  noise;  to  which 
purpose  he  clutched  his  teeth  close,  screwed  up  his 
face,  shrunk  up  his  shoulders,  and  held  in  his  breath 
as  much  as  possible :  yet  see  what  misfortunes 
attend  the  best  projected  undertakings !  When  he 
had  almost  compassed  his  design,  he  could  not  hin- 
der an  obstreperous  sound,  very  different  from  those 
that  caused  his  fear,  from  unluckily  bursting  out. 
"  Hark ! "  cried  Don  Quixote,  who  heard  it,  "  what 
noise  is  that,  Sancho  ?  "  "  Some  new  adventures,  I 
warrant  you,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  for  ill  luck,  you  know, 


212  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

seldom  comes  alone."  Having  passed  off  the  thing 
thus,  he  even  ventured  on  another  strain,  and  did  it 
so  cleverly,  that  without  the  least  rumor  or  noise, 
his  business  was  done  effectually,  to  the  unspeakable 
ease  of  his  body  and  mind. 

But  Don  Quixote  having  the  sense  of  smelling 
as  perfect  as  that  of  hearing,  and  Sancho  standing 
so  very  near,  or  rather  tacked  to  him,  certain  fumes 
that  ascended  perpendicularly,  began  to  regale  his 
nostrils  with  a  smell  not  so  grateful  as  amber.  No 
sooner  the  unwelcome  steams  disturbed  him,  but 
having  recourse  to  the  common  remedy,  he  stopped 
his  nose,  and  then,  with  a  snuffling  voice,  "  San- 
cho," said  he,  <cthou  art  certainly  in  great  bodily 
fear."  "  So  I  am,"  quoth  Sancho ;  u  but  what 
makes  your  worship  perceive  it  now  more  than 
you  did  before  ?  "  "  Because,"  replied  Don  Quixote, 
"thou  smellest  now  more  unsavorily  than  thou 
didst  before."  "  Hoh !  that  may  be,"  quoth  San- 
cho ;  "  but  whose  fault  is  that?  you  may  e'en  thank 
yourself  for  it.  Why  do  you  lead  me  a  wild-goose 
chase,  and  bring  me  at  such  unseasonable  hours  to 
such  dangerous  places?  you  know  I  am  not  used 
to  it."  "  Pray  thee,"  said  Don  Quixote,  still  hold- 
ing his  nose,  "  get  thee  three  or  four  steps  from  me; 
and  for  the  future  take  more  care,  and  know  your 
distance;  for  I  find  rny  familiarity  with  thee  has 
bred  contempt."  "  I  warrant,"  quoth  Sancho,  "you 
think  I  have  been  doing  something  I  should  not 
have  done."  "  Come,  say  no  more,"  cried  Don 
Quixote ;  "  the  more  thou  stir  it  the  worse  it  will 
be." 

This  discourse,  such  as  it  was,  served  them  to 


DON   QUIXOTE.  2io 

pass  away  the  night ;  and  now  Sancho,  seeing  the 
morning  arise,  thought  it  time  to  untie  Rozinante's 
feet,  and  do  up  his  breeches ;  and  he  did  both  with 
so  much  caution,  that  his  master  suspected  nothing. 
As  for  Rozinante,  he  no  sooner  felt  himself  at  liber- 
ty, but  he  seemed  to  express  his  joy  by  pawing  the 
ground;  for,  with  his  leave  be  it  spoken,  he  was  a 
stranger  to  curvetting  and  prancing.  Don  Quixote 
also  took  it  as  a  good  omen,  that  his  steed  was 
now  ready  to  move,  and  believed  that  it  was  a  sig- 
nal given  him  by  kind  fortune,  to  animate  him  to 
give  birth  to  the  approaching  adventure. 

Now  had  Aurora  displayed  her  rosy  mantle  over 
the  blushing  skies,  and  dark  night  withdrawn  her 
sable  veil;  all  objects  stood  confessed  to  human 
eyes,  and  Don  Quixote  could  now  perceive  he  was 
under  some  tall  chestnut  trees,  whose  thick-spreading 
boughs  diffused  an  awful  gloom  around  the  place, 
but  he  could  not  yet  discover  whence  proceeded  the 
dismal  sound  of  those  incessant  strokes.  There- 
fore, being  resolved  to  find  it  out,  once  more  he 
took  his  leave  of  Sancho,  with  the  same  injunc- 
tions as  before;  adding,  withal,  that  he  should  noi 
trouble  himself  about  the  recompense  of  his  services, 
for  he  had  taken  care  of  that  in  his  will,  which  he 
had  providently  made  before  he  left  home;  but  if 
he  came  off  victorious  from  this  adventure,  he  might 
most  certainly  expect  to  be  gratified  with  the  pro- 
mised island.  Sancho  could  not  forbear  blubbering 
again  to  hear  these  tender  expressions  of  his  mas- 
ter, and  resolved  not  to  leave  him  till  he  had  finished 
this  enterprise.  And  from  that  deep  concern,  and 
this  nobler  resolution  to  attend  him,  the  author  of 


214  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

this  history  infers,  that  the  squire  was  something 
of  a  gentleman  by  descent,  or  at  least  the  offspring 
of  the  old  Christians.*  Nor  did  his  good-nature 
fail  to  move  his  master  more  than  he  was  willing  to 
show,  at  a  time  when  it  behooved  him  to  shake  off 
all  softer  thoughts ;  for  now  he  rode  towards  the 
place  whence  the  noise  of  the  blows  and  the  water 
seemed  to  come,  while  Sancho  trudged  after  him, 
leading  by  the  halter  the  inseparable  companion  of 
his  good  and  bad  fortune. 

After  they  had  gone  a  pretty  way  under  a  plea- 
sant covert  of  chestnut-trees,  they  came  into  a 
meadow  adjoining  to  certain  rocks,  from  whose  top 
there  was  a  great  fall  of  waters.  At  the  foot  of 
those  rocks  they  discovered  certain  old  ill-contrived 
buildings,  that  rather  looked  like  ruins  than  inha- 
bited houses  ;  and  they  perceived  that  the  terrifying 
noise  of  the  blows,  which  yet  continued,  issued  out 
of  that  place.  When  they  came  nearer,  even  pa- 
tient Rozinante  himself  started  at  the  dreadful 
sound;  but,  being  heartened  and  pacified  by  his 
master,  he  was  at  last  prevailed  with  to  draw  nearer 
and  nearer  with  wary  steps ;  the  knight  recom- 
mending himself  all  the  way  most  devoutly  to  his 
Dulcinea,  and  now  and  then  also  to  heaven,  in 
short  ejaculations.  As  for  Sancho,  he  stuck  close 
to  his  master,  peeping  all  the  way  through  Rozi- 
nante's  legs,  to  see  if  he  could  perceive  what  he 
dreaded  to  find  out.  When,  a  little  farther,  at  the 
doubling  of  the  point  of  a  rock,  they  plainly  dis- 

*  In  contradiction  to  the  Jewish  or  Moorish  families,  of  which 
there  were  many  in  Spain. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  215 

covered  (kind  reader,  do  not  take  it  amiss)  six  huge 
fulling-mill  hammers,  which  interchangeably  thump- 
ing several  pieces  of  cloth,  made  the  terrible  noise 
that  caused  all  Don  Quixote's  anxieties  and  San- 
cho's  tribulation  that  night. 

Don  Quixote  was  struck  dumb  at  this  unexpected 
sight,  and  was  ready  to  drop  from  his  horse  with 
shame  and  confusion.  Sancho  stared  upon  him, 
and  saw  him  hang  down  his  head,  with  a  despond- 
ing dejected  countenance,  like  a  man  quite  dis- 
pirited with  this  cursed  disappointment.  At  the 
the  same  time  he  looked  upon  Sancho,  and  seeing 
by  his  eyes,  and  his  cheeks  swelled  with  laughter, 
that  he  was  ready  to  burst,  he  could  not  forbear 
laughing  himself,  in  spite  of  all  his  vexation;  so 
that  Sancho,  seeing  his  master  begin,  immediately 
gave  a  loose  to  his  mirth,  and  broke  out  into  such 
a  fit  of  laughing',  that  he  was  forced  to  hold  his 
sides  with  both  his  knuckles,  for  fear  of  bursting  his 
aching  paunch.  Four  times  he  ceased,  and  four 
times  renewed  his  obstreperous  laughing;  which 
sauciness  Don  Quixote  began  to  resent  with  great 
indignation  ;  and  the  more  when  Sancho,  in  a  jeering 
tone,  presumed  to  ridicule  him  with  his  own  words, 
repeating  part  of  the  vain  speech  he  made  when 
first  they  heard  the  noise ;  "  Know,  Sancho,  I  was 
born  in  this  iron  age  to  restore  the  age  of  gold.  I 
am  the  man  for  whom  heaven  has  reserved  the  most 
dangerous  and  glorious  adventures,"  &c.  Thus  he 
went  on,  till  his  master,  dreadfully  enraged  at  his 
insolence,  hit  him  two  such  blows  on  the  shoulders 
with  his  lance,  that,  had  they  fallen  upon  his  head, 
they  had  saved  Don  Quixote  the  trouble  of  paying 


216  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

him  his  wages,  whatever  he  must  have  done  to  his 
heirs.  Thereupon  Sancho,  rinding  his  jest  turn  to 
earnest,  begged  pardon  with  all  submission :  "  Mer- 
cy, good  your  worship,"  cried  he,  "  spare  my  bones, 
I  beseech  you!  I  meant  no  harm,  I  did  but  joke  a 
little."  "And  because  you  joke,  I  do  not,"  cried 
Don  Quixote.  "  Come  hither,  good  Mr.  Jester,  you 
who  pretend  to  rally ;  tell  me,  had  this  been  a  dan- 
gerous adventure,  as  well  as  it  proves  only  a  false 
alarm,  have  I  not  shown  resolution  enough  to  un- 
dertake and  finish  it?  Am  I,  who  am  a  knight, 
bound  to  know  the  meaning  of  every  mechanic 
noise,  and  distinguish  between  sound  and  sound  ? 
Besides,  it  might  happen,  as  really  it  is,  that  I  had 
never  seen  a  fulling-mill  before,  though  thou,  like 
a  base  scoundrel  as  thou  art,  wert  born  and  brought 
up  among  such  mean  implements  of  drudgery.  But 
let  the  six  fulling-hammers  be  transformed  into  so 
many  giants,  and  then  set  them  at  me  one  by  one, 
or  all  together ;  and  if  I  do  not  lay  them  all  at  my 
feet  with  their  heels  upwards,  then  I  will  give  thee 
leave  to  exercise  thy  ill-bred  raillery  as  much  as  thou 
pleasest."  * 

"  Good  your  worship,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  talk  no 
more  on  it,  I  beseech  you ;  I  confess  I  carried  the 
jest  too  far.  But  now  all  is  hushed  and  well,  pray 
tell  me  in  sober  sadness,  as  you  hope  to  speed  in  all 
adventures,  and  come  off  safe  and  sound  as  from 
this,  don't  you  think  but  that  the  fright  we  were  in, 
I  mean  that  I  was  in,  would  be  a  good  subject  for 
people  to  make  sport  with  ?  "  "I  grant  it,"  answered 
Don  Quixote,  "  but  I  would  not  have  it  told ;  for 
all  people  are  not  so  discreet  as  to  place  things,  or 


DON   QUIXOTE.  217 

look  upon  them,  in  the  position  in  which  they  should 
be  considered."  "I  will  say  that  for  you,"  quoth 
Sancho,  "  you  have  shown  you  understand  how  to 
place  things  in  their  right  position,  when,  aiming  at 
my  head,  you  hit  my  shoulders ;  had  not  I  ducked 
a  little  on  one  side,  I  had  been  in  a  fine  condition! 
but  let  that  pass,  it  will  wash  out  in  the  bucking. 
I  have  heard  my  grannam  say,  that  man  loves  thee 
well  who  makes  thee  to  weep.  Good  masters  may 
be  hasty  sometimes  with  a  servant,  but  presently 
after  a  hard  word  or  two  they  commonly  give  him 
a  pair  of  cast  breeches  :  what  they  give  after  a  bast- 
ing, heaven  knows ;  all  I  can  tell  is,  that  knights- 
errant,  after  bastinadoes,  give  you  some  cast  island, 
or  some  old  fashioned  kingdom  upon  the  main 
land." 

"  Fortune,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  will  perhaps 
order  every  thing  thou  hast  said  to  come  to  pass ; 
therefore,  Sancho,  I  pray  thee,  think  no  more  of 
my  severity;  thou  knowest  a  man  cannot  always 
command  the  first  impulse  of  his  passions.  On  the 
other  side,  let  me  advise  thee  not  to  be  so  saucy  for 
the  future,  and  not  to  assume  that  strange  familiar- 
ity with  me  which  is  so  unbecoming  in  a  servant. 
I  protest,  in  such  a  vast  number  of  books  of  knight- 
errantry  as  I  have  read,  I  never  found  that  any 
squire  was  ever  allowed  so  great  a  freedom  of  speech 
with  his  master  as  thou  takest  with  me ;  and  truly, 
I  look  upon  it  to  be  a  great  fault  in  us  both  ;  in  thee 
for  disrespecting  me,  and  in  me  for  not  making 
myself  be  more  respected.  Gandalin,  Amadis  de 
Gaul's  squire,  though  he  was  earl  of  the  Firm 
Island,  yet  never  spoke  to  his  master  but  with  cap 


218  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

in  hand,  his  head  bowed,  and  his  body  half  bent, 
after  the  Turkish  manner.  But  what  'shall  we  say 
of  Gasabal,  Don  Galaor's  squire,  who  was  such  a 
strict  observer  of  silence,  that,  to  the  honor  of  his 
marvellous  taciturnity,  he  gave  the  author  occasion 
to  mention  his  name  but  once  in  that  voluminous 
authentic  history  ?  From  all  this,  Sancho,  I  would 
have  thee  make  this  observation,  that  there  ought  to 
be  a  distance  kept  between  the  master  and  the  man, 
the  knight  and  the  squire.  Therefore,  once  more  I  tell 
thee,  let  us  live  together  for  the  future  more  accord- 
ing to  the  due  decorum  of  our  respective  degrees, 
without  giving  one  another  any  further  vexation  on 
this  account;  for  after  all,  it  will  always  be  the 
worse  for  you,  on  whatsoever  occasion  we  happen 
to  disagree.  As  for  the  rewards  I  promised  you, 
they  will  come  in  due  time;  and  should  you  be 
disappointed  that  \vay,  you  have  your  salary  to 
trust  to,  as  I  have  told  you." 

"  You  say  very  well,"  quoth  Sancho;  "but  now, 
sir,  suppose  no  rewards  should  come,  and  I  should 
be  forced  to  stick  to  my  wages,  I  would  fain  know 
how  much  a  squire-errant  used  to  earn  in.  the  days 
of  yore  ?  Did  they  go  by  the  month  or  by  the  day, 
like  our  laborers  ?  "  "I  do  not  think,"  replied  Don 
Quixote,  "  they  ever  went  by  the  hire,  but  rather 
that  they  trusted  to  their  master's  generosity.  And 
if  I  have  assigned  thee  wages  in  my  will,  which  I 
left  sealed  up  at  home,  it  was  only  to  prevent  the 
worst,  because  I  do  not  know  yet  what  success  I 
may  have  in  chivalry  in  these  depraved  times ;  and 
I  would  not  have  my  soul  suffer  in  the  other  world 
for  such  a  trifling  matter;  for  there  is  no  state  of 


DON   QUIXOTE.  219 

life  so  subject  to  dangers  as  that  of  a  knight-errant." 
"  Like  enough,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  when  merely  the 
noise  of  the  hammers  of  a  falling-mill  is  able  to 
trouble  and  disturb  the  heart  of  such  a  valiant  knight 
as  your  worship!  But  you  may  be  sure  I  will  not 
hereafter  so  much  as  offer  to  open  my  lips  to  jibe 
or  joke  at  your  doings,  but  always  stand  in  awe  of 
you,  and  honor  you  as  my  lord  and  master."  "  By 
doing  so,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  thy  days  shall  be 
long  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ;  for  next  to  our  parents, 
we  ought  to  respect  our  masters,  as  if  they  were 
our  fathers." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

OP  THE  HIGH  ADVENTURE  AND  CONQUEST  OF  MAMBKINO'8 
HELMET,  WITH  OTHER  EVENTS  RELATING  TO  OUR  INVIN- 
CIBLE KNIGHT. 

AT  the  same  time  it  began  to  rain,  and  Sancho 
would  fain  have  taken  shelter  in  the  fulling-mills ; 
but  Don  Quixote  had  conceived  such  an  antipathy 
against  them  for  the  shame  they  had  put  upon  him, 
that  he  would  by  no  means  be  prevailed  with  to  go 
in ;  and  turning  to  the  right  hand  he  struck  into  a 
highway,  where  they  had  not  gone  far  before  he 
discovered  a  horseman,  who  wore  upon  his  head 
something  that  glittered  like  gold.  The  knight  had 
no  sooner  spied  him,  but,  turning  to  his  squire, 
"  Sancho,"  cried  he,  "  I  believe  there  is  no  proverb 
but  what  is  true ;  they  are  all  so  many  sentences 
and  maxims  drawn  from  experience,  the  universal 


220  .         THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

mother  of  sciences  :  for  instance,  that  saying,  That 
where  one  door  shuts,  another  opens :  thus  fortune, 
that  last  night  deceived  us  with  the  false  prospect 
of  an  adventure,  this  morning  offers  us  a  real  one 
to  make  us  amends;  and  such  an  adventure,  San- 
cho,  that  if  I  do  not  gloriously  succeed  in  it,  I  shall 
have  now  no  pretence  to  an  excuse,  no  darkness,  no 
unknown  sounds  to  impute  my  disappointment  to  : 
in  short,  in  all  probability  yonder  comes  the  man 
who  wears  on  his  head  Mambrino's  helmet,*  and 
thou  knowest  the  vow  I  have  made."  "  Good  sir," 
quoth  Sancho,  "  mind  what  you  say,  and  take  heed 
what  you  do ;  for  I  would  willingly  keep  my  car- 
cass and  the  case  of  my  understanding  from  being 
pounded,  mashed,  and  crushed  with  fulling-ham- 
mers."  "Hell  take  the  blockhead!"  cried  Don 
Quixote ;  "  is  there  no  difference  between  a  helmet 
and  a  fulling-mill  ?  "  "I  don't  know,"  saith  Sancho, 
"  but  I  am  sure,  were  I  suffered  to  speak  my  mind 
now  as  I  was  wont,  mayhap  I  would  give  you  such 
main  reasons,  that  yourself  should  see  you  are  wide 
of  the  matter."  "  How  can  I  be  mistaken,  thou 
eternal  misbeliever  ?  "  cried  Don  Quixote ;  "  dost 
thou  not  see  that  knight  that  comes  riding  up 
directly  towards  us  upon  a  dapple-gray  steed,  with 
a  helmet  of  gold  on  his  head?  "  "  I  see  what  I  see," 
replied  Sancho,  "  and  the  devil  of  any  thing  I  can 
spy  but  a  fellow  on  such  another  gray  ass  as  mine 
is,  with  something  that  glisters  o'top  of  his  head." 
"  I  tell  thee,  that  is  Mambrino's  helmet,"  replied 
Don  Quixote :  "  do  thou  stand  at  a  distance,  and 

*  See  Orlando  Furioso,  Canto  I. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  221 

leave  me  to  deal  with  him  ;  them  shalt  see,  that 
without  trifling  away  so  much  as  a  moment  in  need- 
less talk,  I  will  finish  this  adventure,  and  possess 
myself  of  the  desired  helmet."  "  I  shall  stand  at  a 
distance,  you  may  be  sure,"  quoth  Sancho ;  "  but 
I  wish  this  may  not  prove  another  blue  bout,  and  a 
worse  job  than  the  fulling-mills."  "  I  have  warned 
you  already,  fellow,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  not  so 
much  as  to  name  the  fulling-mills;  dare  but  once 
more  to  do  it,  nay,  but  to  think  on  it,  and  I  vow  to 
—  I  say  no  more,  but  I'll  full  and  pound  your  dog- 
ship  into  jelly."  These  threats  were  more  than 
sufficient  to  padlock  Sancho's  lips,  for  he  had  no 
mind  to  have  his  master's  vow  fulfilled  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  bones. 

Now  the  truth  of  the  story  was  this  :  there  were 
in  that  part  of  the  country  two  villages,  one  of  which 
was  so  little  that  it  had  not  so  much  as  a  shop  in  it, 
nor  any  barber ;  so  that  the  barber  of  the  greater 
village  served  also  the  smaller.  And  thus  a  person 
happening  to  have  occasion  to  be  let  blood,  and  an- 
other to  be  shaved,  the  barber  was  going  thither 
with  his  brass  basin,  which  he  had  clapped  upon 
his  head  to  keep  his  hat,  that  chanced  to  be  a  new 
one,  from  being  spoiled  by  the  rain ;  and  as  the 
basin  was  new  scoured,  it  made  a  glittering  show  a 
great  way  off.  As  Sancho  had  well  observed,  he 
rode  upon  a  gray  ass,  which  Don  Quixote  as  easily 
took  for  a  dapple-gray  steed,  as  he  took  the  barber 
for  a  knight,  and  his  brass  basin  for  a  golden  helmet ; 
his  distracted  brain  easily  applying  every  object  to 
his  romantic  ideas.  Therefore,  when  he  saw  the 
poor  imaginary  knight  draw  near,  he  fixed  his  lance, 


222  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

or  javelin,  to  his  thigh,  and  without  staying  to  hold 
a  parley  with  his  thoughtless  adversary,  flew  at  him 
as  fiercely  as  Rozinante  would  gallop,  resolved  to 
pierce  him  through  and  through ;  crying  out  in  the 
midst  of  his  career,  "  Caitiff,  wretch,  defend  thyself, 
or  immediately  surrender  that  which  is  so  justly  my 
due."  The  barber,  who,  as  he  peaceably  went  along, 
saw  that  terrible  apparition  come  thundering  upon 
him  at  unawares,  had  no  other  way  to  avoid  being 
run  through  with  his  lance,  but  to  throw  himself  off 
from  his  ass  to  the  ground  ;  and  then  as  hastily 
getting  up,  he  took  to  his  heels,  and  ran  over  the 
fields  swifter  than -the  wind,  leaving  his  ass  and  his 
basin  behind  him.  Don  Quixote  finding  himself 
thus  master  of  the  field,  and  of  the  basin,  "  The 
miscreant,"  cried  he,  "  who  has  left  this  helmet,  has 
shown  himself  as  prudent  as  the  beaver,  who,  find- 
ing himself  hotly  pursued  by  the  hunters,  to  save 
his  life,  tears  and  cuts  off  with  his  teeth  that  for 
which  his  natural  instinct  tells  him  he  was  followed." 
Then  he  ordered  Sanchp  to  take  up  the  helmet. 
"  On  my  word,"  quoth  Sancho,  having  taken  it  up, 
"  it  is  a  special  basin,  and  as  well  worth  a  piece  of 
eight  as  a  thief  is  worth  a  halter." 

With  that  he  gave  it  to  his  master,  who  presently 
clapped  it  on  his  head,  turning  it  every  way  to  find 
out  the  beaver  or  vizor ;  and  at  last  seeing  it  had 
none,  "  Doubtless,"  said  he,  "  the  pagan  for  whom 
this  famous  helmet  was  first  made,  had  a  head  of  a 
prodigious  size ;  but  the  worst  is,  that  there  is  at 
least  one  half  of  it  wanting."  Sancho  could  not 
forbear  smiling  to  hear  his  master  call  the  barber's 
basin  a  helmet,  and,  had  not  his  fear  dashed  his 


DON   QUIXOTE.  223 

mirth,  lie  had  certainly  laughed  outright.     "  What 
does  the  fool  grin  at  now  ?  "  cried  Don  Quixote. 
"  I  laugh,"  said  he,  "  to  think  what  a  hugeous  jolt- 
head  he  must  needs  have  had  who  was  the  owner 
of  this  same  helmet,  that  looks  for,all  the  world  like 
a  barber's   basin."     "  I  fancy,"  said  Don  Quixote, 
"  this  enchanted  helmet  has  fallen  by  some  strange 
accident  into  the   hands  of  some  person,  who,  not 
knowing  the  value  of  it,  for  the  lucre  of  a  little 
money,  finding  it  to  be  of  pure  gold,  melted  one 
half,  and  of  the  other  made  this  head-piece,  which, 
as  thou  sayest,  has  some  resemblance  of  a  barber's 
basin ;  but  to  me,  who  know  the  worth  of  it,  the 
metamorphosis  signifies  little  ;  for  as  soon  as  ever  1 
come  to  some  town  where  there  is  an  armorer,  I 
will  have  it  altered  so  much  for  the  better,  that  then 
even  the  helmet  which  the  God  of  Smiths  made  for 
the  God  of  War  shall  not  deserve  to  be  compared 
with  it.    In  the  mean  time  I'll  wear  it  as  it  is  ;  it  is 
better  than  nothing,  and  will  serve  at  least  to  save 
part  of  my  head  from  the  violent  encounter  of  a 
stone."     "Ay,  that  it  will,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  so  it  is 
not  hurled  out  of  a  sling,  as  were  those  at  the  battle 
between  the  two  armies,  when  they  hit  you  that 
confounded  dowse   o'the  chops,  that  saluted  your 
worship's  cheek-teeth,  and  broke  the  pot  about  your 
ears  in  which  you  kept  that  blessed  drench  that 
made  me  bring  up  my  guts."     "  True,"  cried  Don 
Quixote,  "  there  I  lost  my  precious  balsam  indeed  ; 
but  I  do  not  much  repine  at  it,  for  thou  knowest  I 
have  the  receipt  in  my  memory,"   "  So  have  I  too," 
quoth  Sancho,  "  and  shall  have  while  I  have  breath 
to  draw ;  but  if  ever  I  make  any  of  that  stuff,  or 


224  THE   ACHIVEMENTS   OF 

taste  it  again,  may  I  give  up  the  ghost  with  it ! 
Besides,  I  don't  intend  ever  to  do  any  thing  that 
may  give  occasion  for  the  use  of  it :  for,  my  fixed 
resolution  is,  with  all  my  five  senses,  to  preserve 
myself  from  hurting,  and  from  being  hurt  by,  any 
body.  As  to  being  tossed  in  a  blanket  again,  I  have 
nothing  to  say  to  that,  for  there  is  no  remedy  for 
accidents  but  patience  it  seems :  so  if  it  ever  be  my 
lot  to  be  served  so  again,  I'll  even  shrink  up  my 
.shoulders,  hold  my  breath,  and  shut  my  eyes,  and 
then  happy  be  lucky,  let  the  blanket  and  fortune 
even  toss  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter." 

"  Truly,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  I  am  afraid  thou 
art  no  good  Christian,  Sancho,  thou  never  forgettest 
injuries.  Let  me  tell  thee,  it  is  the  part  of  noble 
and  generous  spirits  to  pass  by  trifles.  Where  art 
thou  lame  ?  which  of  thy  ribs  is  broken,  or  what 
part  of  thy  skull  is  bruised,  that  thou  can'st  never 
think  on  that  jest  without  malice  ?  for,  after  all,  it 
was  nothing  but  a  jest,  a  harmless  piece  of  pastime  : 
had  I  looked  upon  it  otherwise,  I  had  returned  to 
that  place  before  this  time,  and  had  made  more 
noble  mischief  in  revenge  of  the  abuse,  than  ever 
the  incensed  Grecians  did  at  Troy,  for  the  deten- 
tion of  their  Helen,  that  famed  beauty  of  the  ancient 
world ;  who,  however,  had  she  lived  in  our  age,  or 
had  my  Dulcinea  adorned  her's,  would  have  found 
her  charms  outri  vailed  by  my  mistress's  perfec- 
tions ; "  and  saying  this,  he  heaved  up  a  deep  sigh. 
"  Well  then,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  I  will  not  rip  up  old 
sores  ;  let  it  go  for  a  jest,  since  there  is  no  revenging 
it  in  earnest.  But  what  shall  we  do  with  this 
dapple-gray  steed,  that  is  so  like  a  gray  ass  ?  you 


DON   QUIXOTE.  225 

see  that  same  poor  devil-errant  has  left  it  to  shift 
for  itself,  poor  thing,  and  by  his  haste  to  rub  off,  I 
don't  think  he  means  to  come  back  for  it,  and,  by 
my  beard,  the  gray  beast  is  a  special  one."  "  It  is 
not  my  custom,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  to  plunder 
those  whom  I  overcome  ;  nor  is  it  usual  among  us 
knights,  for  the  victor  to  take  the  horse  of  his  van- 
quished enemy  and  let  him  go  afoot,  unless  his  own 
steed  be  killed  or  disabled  in  the  combat :  therefore, 
Sancho,  leave  the  horse,  or  the  ass,  whatever  thou 
pleasest  to  call  it ;  the  owner  will  be  sure  to  come 
for  it  as  soon  as  he  sees  us  gone."  "  I  have  a  huge 
mind  to  take  him  along  with  us,"  quoth  Sancho, 
"  or  at  least  to  exchange  him  for  my  own,  which  is 
not  so  good.  What,  are  the  laws  of  knight-errantry 
so  strict,  that  a  man  must  not  exchange  one  ass  for 
another  ?  at  least  I  hope  they  will  give  me  leave 
to  swop  one  harness  for  another."  "  Truly,  San- 
cho," replied  Don  Quixote,  "  I  am  not  so  very  cer- 
tain as  to  this  last  particular,  and  therefore,  till  I  am 
better  informed,  I  give  thee  leave  to  exchange  the 
furniture,  if  thou  hast  absolutely  occasion  for  it." 
"  I  have  so  much  occasion  for  it,"  quoth  Sancho, 
"  that  though  it  were  for  my  own  very  self  I  could 
not  need  it  more."  So  without  any  more  ado, 
being  authorized  by  his  master's  leave,  he  made 
mutatio  caparum,  (a  change  of  caparisons)  and 
made  his  own  beast  three  parts  in  four  better* 
for  his  new  furniture.  This  done,  they  breakfasted 
upon  what  they  left  at  supper,  and  quenched  their 

*  Literally,  leaving  him  better  by  a  tierce  and  quint ;  alluding 
to  the  game  of  piquet. 

VOT,.  i  1-c> 


226  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

thirst  at  the  stream  that  turned  the  fulling-mills, 
towards  which  they  took  care  not  to  cast  an  eye, 
for  they  abominated  the  very  thoughts  of  them. 
Thus  their  spleen  being  eased,  their  choleric  and 
melancholic  humors  assuaged,  up  they  got  again, 
and  never  minding  their  way,  were  all  guided  by  Ro- 
zinante's  discretion,  the  depositary  of  his  master's 
will,  and  also  of  the  ass's  that  kindly  and  sociably 
always  followed  his  steps  wherever  he  went.  Their 
guide  soon  brought  them  again  into  the  high  road, 
where  they  kept  on  a  slow  pace,  not  caring  which 
way  they  went. 

As  they  jogged  on  thus,  quoth  Sancho  to  his 
master,  "  Pray,  sir,  will  you  give  me  leave  to  talk 
to  you  a  little  ?  for  since  you  have  laid  that  bitter 
command  upon  rne,  to  hold  my  tongue,  I  have  had 
four  or  five  quaint  conceits  that  have  rotted  in  my 
gizzard,  and  now  I  have  another  at  my  tongue's 
end  that  I  would  not  for  any  thing  should  mis- 
carry." "  Say  it,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  but  be  short, 
for  no  discourse  can  please  when  too  long." 

"  Well,  then,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  I  have  been  think- 
ing to  myself  of  late,  how  little  is  to  be  got  by 
hunting  up  and  down  those  barren  woods  and 
strange  places,  where,  though  you  compass  the 
hardest  and  most  dangerous  jobs  of  knight-errantry, 
yet  no  living  soul  sees  or  hears  on't,  and  so  it  is 
every  bit  as  good  as  lost ;  and  therefore  methinks 
it  were  better  (with  submission  to  your  worship's 
better  judgment  be  it  spoken)  that  we  e'en  went  to 
serve  some  emperor,  or  other  great  prince  that  is  at 
war;  for  there  you  might  show  how  stout,  and  how 
wondrous  strong  and  wise  you  be;  which,  being 


DON   QUIXOTE.  227 

perceived  by  the  lord  we  shall  serve,  he  must  needs 
reward  each  of  us  according  to  his  deserts;  and 
there  you  will  not  want  a  learned  scholar  to  set, 
down  all  your  high  deeds,  that  they  may  never  be 
forgotten  :  as  for  mine  I  say  nothing,  since  they  are 
not  to  be  named  the  same  day  with  your  worship's ; 
and  yet  I  dare  avouch,  that  if  any  notice  be  taken 
in  knight-errantry  of  the  feats  of  squires,  mine  will 
be  sure  to  come  in  for  a  share."  "  Truly,  Sancho," 
replied  Don  Quixote,  "  there  is  some  reason  in  what 
thou  sayest;  but  first  of  all  it  is  requisite  that  a 
knight-errant  should  spend  some  time  in  various 
parts  of  the  world,  as  a  probationer  in  quest  of  ad- 
ventures, that,  by  achieving  some  extraordinary 
exploits,  his  renown  may  diffuse  itself  through 
neighboring  climes  and  distant  nations :  so  when 
he  goes  to  the  court  of  some  great  monarch,  his 
fame  flying  before  him  as  his  harbinger,  secures  him 
such  a  reception,  that  the  knight  has  scarcely  reach- 
ed the  gates  of  the  metropolis  of  the  kingdom, 
when  he  finds  himself  attended  and  surrounded  by 
admiring  crowds,  pointing  and  crying  out,  '  There, 
there  rides  the  Knight  of  the  Sun,  or  of  the  Ser- 
pent,' or  whatever  other  title  the  knight  takes  upon 
him :  '  That  is  he,'  they  will  cry,  '  who  vanquished 
in  single  combat  the  huge  giant  Brocabruno,  sur- 
narned  of  the  invincible  strength ;  this  is  he  that 
freed  the  great  Mamaluco  of  Persia  from  the  en- 
chantment that  had  kept  him  confined  for  almost 
nine  hundred  years  together.'  Thus,  as  they  re- 
late his  achievements  with  loud  acclamations,  the 
spreading  rumor  at  last  reaches  the  king's  palace, 
and  the  monarch  of  that  country,  being  desirous  to 


228  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

oe  informed  with  his  own  eyes,  will  not  fail  to  look 
out  of  his  window.  As  soon  as  he  sees  the  knight, 
knowing  him  by  his  arms,  or  the  device  on  his 
shield,  he  will  be  obliged  to  say  to  his  attendants, 
'  My  lords  and  gentlemen,  haste  all  of  you,  as  many 
as  are  knights,  go  and  receive  the  flower  of  chivalry 
that  is  coming  to  our  court.'  At  the  king's  com- 
mand, away  they  all  run  to  introduce  him  ;  the 
king  himself  meets  him  half  way  on  the  stairs, 
where  he  embraces  his  valorous  guest,  and  kisses 
his  cheek :  then  taking  him  by  the  hand,  he  leads 
him  directly  to  the  queen's  apartment,  where  the 
knight  finds  her  attended  by  the  princess  her  daugh- 
ter, who  must  be  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
most  accomplished  damsels  in  the  whole  compass 
of  the  universe.  At  the  same  time  fate  will  so  dis- 
pose of  every  thing,  that  the  princess  shall  gaze  on 
the  knight,  and  the  knight  on  the  princess,  and  each 
shall  admire  one  another  as  persons  rather  angel- 
ical than  human;  and  then,  by  an  unaccountable 
charm,  they  shall  both  find  themselves  caught  and 
entangled  in  the  inextricable  net  of  love,  and  won- 
drously  perplexed  for  want  of  an  opportunity  to 
discover  their  amorous  anguish  to  one  another. 
After  this,  doubtless,  the  knight  is  conducted  by  the 
king  to  one  of  the  richest  apartments  in  the  pa- 
lace ;  where,  having  taken  off  his  armor,  they  will 
bring  him  a  rich  scarlet  vestment  lined  with  er- 
mines ;  and  if  he  looked  so  graceful  cased  in  steel. 
how  lovely  will  he  appear  in  all  the  heightening 
ornaments  of  courtiers!  Night  being  come,  he 
shall  sup  with  the  king,  the  queen,  and  the  prin- 
cess ;  and  shall  all  the  while  be  feasting  his  eyes 


DON   QUIXOTE.  229 

» 

with  the  sight  of  the  charmer,  yet  so  as  nobody 
shall  perceive  it ;  and  she  will  repay  him  his  glances 
with  as  much  discretion ;  for,  as  I  have  said,  she  is 
a  most  accomplished  person.  After  supper,  a  sur- 
prising scene  is  unexpectedly  to  appear :  enter  first 
an  ill-favored  little  dwarf,  and  after  him  a  fair  dam- 
sel between  two  giants,  with  the  offer  of  a  certain 
adventure  so  contrived  by  an  ancient  necromancer, 
and  so  difficult  to  be  performed,  that  he  who  shall 
undertake  and  end  it  with  success,  shall  be  esteem- 
ed the  best  knight  in  the  world.  Presently  it  is  the 
king's  pleasure  that  all  his  courtiers  should  attempt 
it ;  which  they  do,  but  all  of  them  unsuccessfully  ; 
for  the  honor  is  reserved  for  the  valorous  stranger, 
who  effects  that  with  ease  which  the  rest  essayed 
in  vain ;  and  then  the  princess  shall  be  overjoyed, 
and  esteem  herself  the  most  happy  creature  in 
the  world,  for  having  bestowed  her  affections  on 
so  deserving  an  object.  Now  by  the  happy  ap- 
pointment of  fate,  this  king,  or  this  emperor,  is  at 
war  with  one  of  his  neighbors  as  powerful  as  him- 
self, and  the  knight  being  informed  of  this,  after  he 
has  been  some  few  days  at  court,  offers  the  king  his 
service  ;  which  is  accepted  with  joy,  and  the  knight 
courteously  kisses  the  king's  hand  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  so  great  a  favor.  That  night  the  lover 
takes  his  leave  of  the  princess  at  the  iron  grate  be- 
fore her  chamber  window  looking  into  the  garden, 
where  he  and  she  have  already  had  several  inter- 
views, by  means  of  the  princess's  confidante,  a 
damsel  who  carries  on  the  intrigue  between  them. 
The  knight  sighs,  the  princess  swoons,  the  damsel 
runs  for  cold  water  to  bring  her  to  life  again,  very 


230  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

« 

uneasy  also  because  the  morning  light  approaches, 
and  she  would  not  have  them  discovered,  lest  it 
should  reflect  on  her  lady's  honor.  At  last  the 
princess  revives,  and  gives  the  knight  her  lovely 
hand  to  kiss  through  the  iron  grate  ;  which  he  does 
a  thousand  and  a  thousand  times,  bathing  it  all  the 
while  with  his  tears.  Then  they  agree  how  to 
transmit  their  thoughts  with  secrecy  to  each  other, 
with  a  mutual  intercourse  of  letters  during  his  fatal 
absence.  The  princess  prays  him  to  return  with  all 
the  speed  of  a  lover ;  the  knight  promises  it  with 
repeated  vows,  and  a  thousand  kind  protestations. 
At  last,  the  fatal  moment  being  come  that  must 
tear  him  from  all  he  loves,  and  from  his  very  self, 
he  seals  once  more  his  love  on  her  soft  snowy  hand, 
almost  breathing  out  his  soul,  which  mounts  to  his 
lips,  and  even  would  leave  its  body  to  dwell  there ; 
and  then  he  is  hurried  away  by  the  fearful  confi- 
dante. After  this  cruel  separation  he  retires  to  his 
chamber,  and  throws  himself  on  his  bed ;  but  grief 
will  not  suffer  sleep  to  close  his  eyes.  Then  rising 
with  the  sun,  he  goes  to  take  his  leave  of  the  king 
and  the  queen  :  he  desires  to  pay  his  compliment 
of  leave  to  the  princess,  but  he  is  told  she  is  indis- 
posed; and  as  he  has  reason  to  believe  that  his  de- 
parting is  the  cause  of  her  disorder,  he  is  so  grieved 
at  the  news,  that  he  is  ready  to  betray  the  secret  of 
his  heart,  which  the  princess's  confidante  observing, 
she  goes  and  acquaints  her  with  it,  and  finds  the 
lovely  mourner  bathed  in  tears,  who  tells  her.  that 
the  greatest  affliction  of  her  soul  is  her  not  know- 
ing whether  her  charming  knight  be  of  royal  blood  : 
but  the  damsel  pacifies  her,  assuring  her  that  so 


DON   QUIXOTE.  231 

much  gallantry,  and  such  noble  qualifications,  were 
unquestionably  derived  from  an  illustrious  and 
royal  original.  This  comforts  the  afflicted  fair,  who 
does  all  she  can  to  compose  her  looks,  lest  the  king 
or  the  queen  should  suspect  the  cause  of  their  alter- 
ation ;  and  so  some  days  after,  she  appears  in  pub- 
lic as  before.  And  now  the  knight,  having  been 
absent  for  some  time,  meets,  fights,  and  overcomes 
the  king's  enemies,  takes  I  do  not  know  how  many 
cities,  wins  I  do  not  know  how  many  battles,  re- 
turns to  court,  and  appears  before  his  mistress 
laden  with  honor.  He  visits  her  privately  as  be- 
fore, and  they  agree  that  he  shall  demand  her  of 
the  king  her  father  in  marriage,  as  the  reward  of  all 
his  services:  but  the  king  will  not  grant  his  suit,  as 
being  unacquainted  with  his  birth :  however,  whe- 
ther it  be  that  the  princess  suffers  herself  to  be  pri- 
vately carried  away,  or  that  some  other  means  are 
used,  the  knight  marries  her,  and  in  a  little  time 
the  king  is  very  well  pleased  with  the  match  :  for 
now  the  knight  appears  to  be  the  son  of  a  mighty 
king  of  I  cannot  tell  what  country,  for  I  think  it  is 
not  in  tha  map.  Some  time  after,  the  father  dies, 
the  princess  is  heiress,  and  thus  in  a  trice  our 
knight  comes  to  be  king.  Having  thus  completed 
his  happiness,  his  next  thoughts  are  to  gratify  his 
squire,  and  all  those  who  have  been  instrumental 
in  his  advancement  to  the  throne  :  thus  he  marries 
his  squire  to  one  of  the  princess's  damsels,  and 
most  probably  to  her  favorite,  who  had  been  privy 
to  the  amours,  and  who  is  daughter  to  one  of  the 
most  considerable  dukes  in  the  kingdom. 

"  That  is  what  I  have  been  looking  for  all  this 


232  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

while,"  quoth  Sancho ;  "  give  me  but  that,  and  let 
the  world  rub,  there  I'll  stick;  for  every  tittle  of 
this  will  come  to  pass,  and  be  your  worship's  case 
as  sure  as  a  gun,  if  you  will  take  upon  you  that 
same  nickname  of  the  Knight  of  the  Woful 
Figure."  "  Most  certainly,  Sancho,"  replied  Don 
Quixote  ;  "for  by  the  same  steps,  and  in  that  very 
manner,  knights-errant  have  always  proceeded  to 
ascend  to  the  throne  ;  therefore  our  chief  business 
is  to  find  out  some  great  potentate,  either  among 
the  Christians  or  the  Pagans,  that  is  at  war  with 
his  neighbors,  and  has  a  fair  daughter.  But  we 
shall  have  time  enough  to  inquire  after  that ;  for,  as 
I  have  told  thee,  we  must  first  purchase  fame  in 
other  places,  before  we  presume  to  go  to  court. 
Another  thing  makes  me  more  uneasy  :  suppose  we 
have  found  out  a  king  and  a  princess,  and  I  have 
filled  the  world  with  the  fame  of  my  unparalleled 
achievements,  yet  cannot  I  tell  how  to  find  out  that 
I  am  of  royal  blood,  though  it  were  but  second 
cousin  to  an  emperor ;  for  it  is  not  to  be  expected 
that  the  king  will  ever  consent  that  I  shall  wed  his 
daughter  until  I  have  made  this  out  by -authentic 
proofs,  though  my  service  deserve  it  never  so  much ; 
and  thus,  for  want  of  a  punctilio,  I  am  in  danger 
of  losing  what  my  valor  so  justly  merits.  It  is  true, 
indeed,  I  am  a  gentleman,  and  of  a  noted  ancient 
family,  and  possessed  of  an  estate  of  a  hundred 
and  twenty  crowns  a  year ;  nay,  perhaps  the  learned 
historiographer  who  is  to  write  the  history  of  my 
life,  will  so  improve  and  beautify  my  genealogy, 
that  he  will  find  me  to  be  the  fifth,  or  sixth  at  least, 
in  descent  from  a  king:  for,  Sancho,  there  are  two 


DON   QUIXOTE.  233 

sorts  of  originals  in  the  world;  some  who,  sprung 
from  mighty  kings  and  princes,  by  little  and  little 
have  been  so  lessened  and  obscured,  that  the  estates 
and  titles  of  the  following  generations  have  dwin- 
dled to  nothing,  and  ended  in  a  point  like  a  pyra- 
mid ;  others,  who,  from  mean  and  low  beginnings, 
still  rise  and  rise,  till  at  last  they  are  raised  to  the 
very  top  of  human  greatness  :  so  vast  the  difference 
is,  that  those  who  were  something,  are  now  no- 
thing, and  those  that  were  nothing,  are  now  some- 
thing. And  therefore  who  knows  but  that  I  may 
be  one  of  those  whose  original  is  so  illustrious? 
which  being  handsomely  made  out,  after  due  exa- 
mination, ought  undoubtedly  to  satisfy  the  king, 
my  father-in-law.  But  even  supposing  he  were 
still  refractory,  the  princess  is  to  be  so  desperately 
in  love  with  me,  that  she  will  marry  me  without  his 
consent,  though  I  were  a  son  of  the  meanest  water- 
carrier;  and  if  her  tender  honor  scruples  to  bless 
me  against  her  father's  will,  then  it  may  not  be 
amiss  to  put  a  pleasant  constraint  upon  her,  by 
conveying  her  by  force  out  of  the  reach  of  her  fa- 
ther, to  whose  persecutions  either  time  or  death  will 
be  sure  to  put  a  period." 

"Ay,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  your  rake-helly  fellows 
have  a  saying  that  is  pat  to  your  purpose,  Never 
cringe  nor  creep,  for  what  you  by  force  may  reap 
though  I  think  it  were  better  said,  A  leap  from  a 
hedge  is  better  than  the  prayer  of  a  good  man.' 
No  more  to  be  said,  if  the  king  your  father-in-law 
won't  let  you  have  his  daughter  by  fair  means, 

*  Better  to  rob  than  to  ask  charity. 


234  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

never  stand  shall  I,  shall  T,  but  fairly  and  squarely 
run  away  with  her.  All  the  mischief  that  I  fear,  is 
only,  that  while  you  are  making  your  peace  with 
him,  and  waiting  after  a  dead  man's  shoes,  as  the 
saying  is,  the  poor  dog  of  a  squire  is  like  to  go  long 
barefoot,  and  may  go  hang  himself  for  any  good 
you  will  be  able  to  do  him,  unless  the  damsel,  Go- 
between,  who  is  to  be  his  wife,  run  away  too  with 
the  princess,  and  he  solace  himself  with  her  till  a 
better  time  comes;  for  I  don't  see  but  that  the 
knight  may  clap  up  the  match  between  us  without 
any  more  ado."  "  That  is  most  certain,"  answered 
Don  Quixote.  "  Why  then,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  let 
us  even  take  our  chance,  and  let  the  world  rub." 
"  May  fortune  crown  our  wishes,"  cried  Don  Quix- 
ote, "and  let  him  be  a  wretch  who  thinks  himself 
one!"  "Amen,  say  I,"  quoth  Sancho;  "for  I  am 
one  of  your  old  Christians,  and  that  is  enough  to 
qualify  me  to  be  an  earl."  "  And  more  than 
enough,"  said  Don  Quixote ;  "  for  though  thou 
wert  not  so  well  descended,  being  a  king,  I  could 
bestow  nobility  on  thee,  without  putting  thee  to  the 
trouble  of  buying  it,  or  doing  me  the  least  service ; 
and  making  thee  an  earl,  men  must  call  thee  my 
lord,  though  it  grieves  them  never  so  much."  "And 
do  you  think,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  I  would  not  become 
my  equality  main  well  ?  "  "  Thou  shouldst  say 
quality,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  and  not  equality." 
"  Even  as  you  will,"  returned  Sancho  :  "  but  as  I 
was  saying,  I  should  become  an  earldom  rarely ;  for 
I  was  once  beadle  to  a  brotherhood,  and  the  bea- 
dle's gown  did  so  become  me,  that  every  body  said 
I  had  the  presence  of  a  warden.  Then  how  do  you 


DON   QUIXOTE.  235 

think  I  shall  look  with  a  duke's  robes  on  my  back, 
all  bedaubed  with  gold  and  pearl  like  any  foreign 
count  ?  I  believe  we  shall  have  folks  come  a  hun- 
dred leagues  to  see  me."  "  Thou  wilt  look  well 
enough,"  said  Don  Quixote;  "but  then  thou  must 
shave  that  rough  bushy  beard  of  thine  at  least 
every  other  day,  or  people  will  read  thy  beginning 
in  thy  face  as  soon  as  they  see  thee."  "  Why  then," 
quoth  Sancho,  "  it  is  but  keeping  a  barber  in  my 
house ;  and  if  needs  be,  he  shall  trot  after  me 
wherever  I  go,  like  a  grandee's  master  of  the  horse." 
"  How  earnest  thou  to  know,"  said  Don  Quixote, 
"  that  grandees  have  their  masters  of  the  horse  to 
ride  after  them  ?  "  "  I'll  tell  you,"  quoth  Sancho  : 
"  some  years  ago  I  happened  to  be  about  a  month 
among  your  court-folks,  and  there  I  saw  a  little 
dandiprat  riding  about,  who,  they  said  was  a  huge- 
ous great  lord :  there  was  a  man  a  horseback  that 
followed  him  close  wherever  he  went,  turning  and 
stopping  as  he  did,  you  would  have  thought  he  had 
been  tied  to  his  horse's  tail.  With  that  I  asked 
why  that  hind-man  did  not  ride  by  the  other,  but 
still  came  after  him  thus  ?  and  they  told  me  he  was 
master  of  his  horses,  and  that  the  grandees  have 
always  such  kind  of  men  at  their  tail ;  and  I 
marked  this  so  well,  that  I  han't  forgot  it  since." 
"  Thou  art  in  the  right,"  said  Don  Quixote ;  "  and 
thou  mayest  as  reasonably  have  thy  barber  attend 
thee  in  this  manner.  Customs  did  not  come  up  all 
at  once,  but  rather  started  up  and  were  improved 
by  degrees ;  so  thou  mayest  be  the  first  earl  that 
rode  in  state,  with  his  barber  behind  him ;  and  this 
may  be  said  to  justify  thy  conduct,  that  it  is  an 


236  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

9 

office  of  more  trust  to  shave  a  man's  beard,  than  to 
saddle  a  horse."  "  Well,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  leave 
the  business  of  the  cut-beard  to  me,  and  do  but 
take  care  you  be  a  king  and  I  an  earl."  "  Never 
doubt  it,"  replied  Don  Quixote;  and  with  that, 
looking  about,  he  discovered  —  what  the  next  chap- 
ter will  tell  you. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HOW  DON  QUIXOTE  SET  FREE  MANY  MISERABLE  CREATURES, 
WHO  WERE  CARRYING,  MUCH  AGAINST  THEIR  WILLS,  TO  A 
PLACE  THEY  DID  NOT  LIKE. 

CID  HAMET  BENENGELI,  an  Arabian  and  Man- 
chegan  author,  relates  in  this  most  grave,  high- 
sounding,  minute,  soft,  and  humorous  history,  that 
after  this  discourse  between  the  renowned  Don  Quix- 
ote and  his  squire  Sancho  Panza,  which  we  have 
laid  down  at  the  end  of  the  seventh  chapter,  the 
knight  lifting  up  his  eyes,  saw  about  twelve  men 
a-foot,  trudging  in  the  road,  all  in  a  row,  one  behind 
another,  like  beads  upon  a  string,  being  linked  to- 
gether by  the  neck  to  a  huge  iron  chain,  and  mana- 
cled besides.  They  were  guarded  by  two  horsemen, 
armed  with  carabines,  and  two  men  a-fbot,  with 
swords  and  javelins.  As  soon  as  Sancho  spied  them, 
"  Look  ye,  sir,"  cried  he,  "  here  is  a  gang  of  wretches 
hurried  away  by  main  force  to  serve  the  king  in  the 
galleys."  "  How,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "is  it  pos- 
sible the  king  will  force  any  body  ?  "  "I  don't  say 
so,"  answered  Sancho ;  "  I  mean  these  are  rogues 


DON   QUIXOTE.  237 

whom  the  law  has  sentenced  for  their  misdeeds,  to 
row  in  the  king's  galleys."  "  However,"  replied  Don 
Quixote,  "  they  are  forced,  because  they  do  not  go 
of  their  own  free  will."  "  Sure  enough,"  quoth  San- 
cho.  "  If  it  be  so,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  they  come 
within  the  verge  of  my  office,  which  is  to  hinder 
violence  and  oppression,  and  succor  all  people  in 
misery."  "Ay,  sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "but  neither  the 
king  nor  law  offer  any  violence  to  such  wicked 
wretches,  they  have  but  their  deserts."  By  this  the 
chain  of  slaves  came  up,  when  Don  Quixote,  in  very 
civil  terms,  desired  the  guards  to  inform  him  why 
these  people  were  led  along  in  that  manner  ?  "  Sir," 
answered  one  of  the  horsemen,  "  they  are  criminals, 
condemned  to  serve  the  king  in  his  galleys :  that  is 
all  I  have  to  say  to  you,  and  you  need  inquire  no 
farther."  "  Nevertheless,  sir,"  replied  Don  Quixote, 
"  I  have  a  great  desire  to  know  in  few  words  the 
cause  of  their  misfortune,  and  I  will  esteem  it  an  ex- 
traordinary favor,  if  you  will  let  me  have  that  satis- 
faction." "  We  have  here  the  copies  and  certificates 
of  their  several  sentences,"  said  the  other  horseman, 
"  but  we  can't  stand  to  pull  them  out  and  read 
them  now ;  you  may  draw  near  and  examine  the 
men  yourself:  I  suppose  they  themselves  will  tell 
you  why  they  are  condemned  ;  for  they  are  such 
honest  people,  they  are  not  ashamed  to  boast  of 
their  rogueries." 

With  this  permission,  which  Don  Quixote  would 
have  taken  of  himself  had  they  denied  it  him,  he 
rode  up  to  the  chain,  and  asked  the  first,  for  what 
crimes  he  was  in  these  miserable  circumstances  ? 
The  galley-slave  answered  him,  that  it  was  for  being 


238  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

in  love.  "What,  only  for  being  in  love?"  cried  Don 
Quixote  ;  "  were  all  those  that  are  in  love  to  be  used 
thus,  I  myself  might  have  been  long  since  in  the 
galleys."  "Ay,  but,"  replied  the  slave,  "  my  love  was 
not  of  that  sort  which  you  conjecture:  I  was  so 
desperately  in  love  with  a  basket  of  linen,  and  em- 
braced it  so  close,  that  had  not  the  judge  taken  it 
from  me  by  force,  I  would  not  have  parted  with  it 
willingly.  In  short,  I  was  taken  in  the  fact,  and  so 
there  was  no  need  to  put  me  to  the  rack,  it  was  prov- 
ed so  plain  upon  me.  So  I  was  committed,  tried, 
condemned,  had  the  gentle  lash;  and  besides  that, 
was  sent,  for  three  years,  to  be  an  element-dasher, 
and  there  is  an  end  of  the  business."  "An  element- 
dasher,"  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  what  do  you  mean  by 
that?"  "A  galley-slave,"  answered  the  criminal, 
who  was  a  young  fellow,  about  four-and-twenty 
years  old,  and  said  he  was  born  at  Piedra  Hita. 

Then  Don  Quixote  examined  the  second,  but  he 
was  so  sad  and  desponding,  that  he  would  make 
no  answer;  however,  the  first  rogue  informed  the 
knight  of  his  affairs :  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  this  canary- 
bird  keeps  us  company  for  having  sung  too  much." 
"  Is  it  possible  ! "  cried  Don  Quixote,  "  are  men  sent 
to  the  galleys  for  singing  ?  "  "Ay,  marry  are  they," 
quoth  the  arch  rogue ;  "  for  there  is  nothing  worse 
than  to  sing  in  anguish."  "  How ! "  cried  Don  Quix- 
ote; "that  contradicts  the  saying,  Sing  away  sor- 
row, cast  away  care."  "Ay,  but  with  us  the  case  is 
different,"  replied  the  slave ;  "  he  that  sings  in  disaster, 
weeps  all  his  life  after."  "  This  is  a  riddle  which  I 
cannot  unfold,"  cried  Don  Quixote.  "  Sir,"  said  one 
of  the  guards, "  Singing  in  anguish,  among  these  jail- 


DON  QUIXOTE.  239 

birds,  means  to  confess  upon  the  rack :  this  fellow 
was  put,  to  the  torture,  and  confessed  his  crime,  which 
was  stealing  of  cattle ;  and  because  he  squeaked,  or 
sung,  as  they  call  it,  he  was  condemned  to  the  gal- 
leys for  six  years,  besides  an  hundred  jirks  with  a 
cat  of  nine  tails  that  have  whisked  and  powdered 
his  shoulders  already.  Now  the  reason  why  he  goes 
thus  mopish  and  out  o'sorts,  is  only  because  his 
comrogues  jeer  and  laugh  at  him  continually  for  not 
having  had  the  courage  to  deny ;  as  if  it  had  not 
been  as  easy  for  him  to  have  said  no  as  yes ;  or  as 
if  a  fellow,  taken  up  on  suspicion,  were  not  a  lucky 
rogue,  when  there  is  no  positive  evidence  can  come 
in  against  him  but  his  own  tongue ;  and  in  my  opi- 
nion they  are  somewhat  in  the  right."  "  I  think  so 
too,"  said  Don  Quixote. 

Thence  addressing  himself  to  the  third,  "And 
you,"  said  he,  "  what  have  you  done  ?  "  "  Sir,"  an- 
swered the  fellow,  readily  and  pleasantly  enough, 
"  I  must  mow  the  great  meadow  for  five  years  to- 
gether, for  want  of  twice  five  ducats."  "  I  will  give 
twenty  with  all  my  heart, "  said  Don  Quixote,  "  to 
deliver  thee  from  that  misery."  "  Thank  you  for 
nothing,"  quoth  the  slave ;  "it  is  just  like  the  pro- 
verb, After  meat  comes  mustard;  or,  like  money 
to  a  starving  man  at  sea,  when  there  are  no  victuals 
to  be  bought  with  it :  had  I  had  the  twenty  ducats 
you  offer  me  before  I  was  tried,  to  have  greased  the 
clerk's  [or  recorder's]  fist,  and  have  whetted  my  law- 
yer's wit,  I  might  have  been  now  at  Toledo  in  the 
market-place  of  Zocodover,  and  not  have  been  thus 
led  along  like  a  dog  in  a  string.  But  heaven  is 
powerful.  Basta ;  I  say  no  more." 


240  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

Then  passing  to  the  fourth,  who  was  a  venerable 
old  Don,  with  a  gray  beard  that  reached  to  his  bo- 
som, he  put  the  same  question  to  him  ;  whereupon 
the  poor  creature  fell  a-weeping,  and  was  not  able 
to  give  him  an  answer ;  so  the  next  behind  him  lent 
him  a  tongue.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  this  honest  person 
goes  to  the  galleys  for  four  years,  having  taken  his 
progress  through  the  town  in  state,  and  rested  at 
the  usual  stations."  "  That  is,"  quoth  Sancho, "  as  I 
take  it,  after  he  had  been  exposed  to  public  shame."* 
"  Right,"  replied  the  slave  ;  "  and  all  this  he  is  con- 
demned to  for  being  a  broker  of  human  flesh :  for, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  the  gentleman  is  a  pimp,  and, 
besides  that,  he  has  a  smack  of  conjuring."  "  If  it 
were  not  for  that  addition  of  conjuring,"  cried  Don 
Quixote,  "  he  ought  not  to  have  been  sent  to  the 
galleys  purely  for  being  a  pimp,  unless  it  were  to  be 
general  of  the  galleys  :  for,  the  profession  of  a  bawd 
pimp,  or  messenger  of  love,  is  not  like  other  common 
employments,  but  an  office  that  requires  a  great 
deal  of  prudence  and  sagacity  ;  an  office  of  trust  and 
weight,  and  most  highly  necessary  in  a  well-regu- 
lated commonwealth;  nor  should  it  be  executed  but 
by  civil  well-descended  persons  of  good  natural  parts, 
and  of  a  liberal  education.  Nay,  'twere  requisite  there 
should  be  a  comptroller  and  surveyor  of  the  profes- 
sion, as  there  are  of  others  ;  and  a  certain  and  set- 
tled number  of  them,  as  there  are  of  exchange-brok- 
ers. This  would  be  a  means  to  prevent  an  infinite 
number  of  mischiefs  that  happen  every  day,  because 

*  Instead  of  the  pillory,  in  Spain,  they  carry  malefactors  on  an 
ass,  and  in  a  particular  habit,  along  the  streets,  the  crier  going 
before,  and  proclaiming  their  crime. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  241 

the  trade  or  profession  is  followed  by  poor  ignorant 
pretenders,  silly  waiting  women,  young  giddy-brain- 
ed pages,  shallow  footmen,  and  such  raw  inexpe- 
rienced sort  of  people,  who  in  unexpected  turns  and 
emergencies  stand  with  their  fingers  in  their  mouths, 
know  not  their  right  hand  from  their  left,  but  suffer 
themselves  to  be  surprised,  and  spoil  all  for  want  of 
quickness  of  invention  either  to  conceal,  carry  on, 
or  bring  off  a  thing  artificially.  Had  I  but  time  I 
would  point  out  what  sort  of  persons  are  best  qua- 
lified to  be  chosen  professors  of  this  most  necessary 
employment  in  the  commonwealth ;  however,  at 
some  future  season  I  will  inform  those  of  it  who 
may  remedy  this  disorder.  All  I  have  to  say  now, 
is,  that  the  grief  I  had  to  see  these  venerable  gray 
hairs  in  such  distress,  for  having  followed  that  no 
less  useful  than  ingenious  vocation  of  pimping,  is 
now  lost  in  my  abhorrence  of  his  additional  charac- 
ter of  a  conjurer ;  though  I  very  well  know  that  no 
sorcery  in  the  world  can  effect  or  force  the  will,  as 
some  ignorant  credulous  persons  fondly  imagine : 
for  our  will  is  a  free  faculty,  and  no  herb  nor  charms 
can  constrain  it.  As  for  philters,  and  such-like  com- 
positions, which  some  silly  women  and  designing 
pretenders  make,  they  are  nothing  but  certain  mix- 
tures and  poisonous  preparations,  that  make  those 
who  take  them  run  mad ;  though  the  deceivers  la- 
bor to  persuade  us  they  can  make  one  person  love 
another;  which,  as  I  have  said,  is  an  impossible 
thing,  our  will  being  a  free,  uncontrollable  power.  " 
"  You  say  very  well,  sir,"  cried  the  old  coupler;  "  and 
upon  my  honor,  I  protest  I  am  wholly  innocent,  as 
to  the  imputation  of  witchcraft.  As  for  the  business 
vni .  T,  16 


242  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

of  pimping,  I  cannot  deny  it,  but  I  never  took  it  to 
be  a  criminal  function;  for  my  intention  was,  that 
all  the  world  should  taste  the  sweets  of  love,  and 
enjoy  each  other's  society,  living  together  in  friend- 
ship and  in  peace,  free  from  those  griefs  and  jars 
that  unpeople  the  earth.  But  my  harmless  design 
has  not  been  so  happy  as  to  prevent  rny  being  sent 
now  to  a  place  whence  I  never  expect  to  return, 
stooping  as  I  do  under  the  heavy  burden  of  old  age, 
and  being  grievously  afflicted  with  the  strangury, 
which  scarce  affords  me  a  moment's  respite  from 
pain."  This  said,  the  reverend  procurer  burst  out 
afresh  into  tears  and  lamentations,  which  melted 
Sancho's  heart  so  much,  that  he  pulled  a  piece  of  mo- 
ney out  of  his  bosom,  and  gave  it  to  him  as  an  alms. 
Then  Don  Quixote  turned  to  the  fifth,  who  seem- 
ed to  be  nothing  at  all  concerned.  "  I  go  to  serve 
his  majesty,"  said  he,  "  for  having  been  somewhat 
too  familiar  with  two  of  my  cousin-germans,  and 
two  other  kind-hearted  virgins  that  were  sisters  ;  by 
which  means  I  have  multiplied  my  kin,  and  begot 
so  odd  and  intricate  a  medley  of  kindred,  that  it 
would  puzzle  a  convocation  of  casuists  to  resolve 
their  degrees  of  consanguinity.  All  this  was  proved 
upon  me.  I  had  no  friends,  and,  what  was  worse, 
no  money,  and  so  was  like  to  have  swung  for  it 
however,  I  was  only  condemned  to  the  galleys  for 
six  years,  and  patiently  submitted  to  it.  I  feel  my- 
self yet  young,  to  my  confort ;  so  if  my  life  does 
but  hold  out,  all  will  be  well  in  time.  If  you  will 
be  pleased  to  bestow  something  upon  poor  sinners, 
heaven  will  reward  you:  and  when  we  pray,  we 
will  be  sure  to  remember  you,  that  your  life  may  be 


BON  QUIXOTE.  243 

as  long  and  prosperous,  as  your  presence  is  goodly 
and  noble."  This  brisk  spark  appeared  to  be  a 
student  by  his  habit,  and  some  of  the  guards  said 
he  was  a  fine  speaker,  and  a  good  latinist. 

After  him  came  a  man  about  thirty  years  old,  a 
clever,  well-set,  handsome  fellow,  only  he  squinted 
horribly  with  one  eye  :  he  was  strangely  loaded  with 
irons ;  a  heavy  chain  clogged  his  leg,  and  was  so 
long,  that  he  twisted  it  about  his  waist  like  a  girdle  : 
he  had  a  couple  of  collars  about  his  neck,  the  one 
to  link  him  to  the  rest  of  the  slaves,  and  the  other, 
one  of  those  iron-ruffs  which  they  call  a  keep-friend, 
or  a  friend's  foot;  from  whence  two  irons  went 
down  to  his  middle,  and  to  their  two  bars  were 
riveted  a  pair  of  manacles  that  griped  him  by  the 
fists,  and  were  secured  with  a  large  padlock  ;  so  that 
he  could  neither  lift  his  hands  to  his  mouth,  nor 
bend  down  his  head  towards  his  hands.  Don  Quix- 
ote  inquiring  why  he  was  worse  hampered  with 
irons  than  the  rest,  "Because  he  alone  has  done 
more  rogueries  than  all  the  rest,"  answered  one  of 
the  guards.  "  This  is  such  a  reprobate,  such  a  devil 
of  a  fellow,  that  no  gaol  nor  fetters  will  hold  him  ; 
we  are  not  sure  he  is  fast  enough,  for  all  he  is 
chained  so."  "  What  sort  of  crimes  then  has  he 
been  guilty  of,"  asked  Don  Quixote,  "  that  he  is 
only  sent  to  the  galleys  ?  "  "  Why,"  answered  the 
keeper,  "  he  is  condemned  to  ten  years  slavery, 
which  is  no  better  than  a  civil  death :  but  I  need 
not  stand  to  tell  you  any  more  of  him,  but  that  he 
is  that  notorious  rogue,  Gines  de  Passamonte,  alias 
Ginesillo  de  Parapilla."  "  Hark  you,  sir,"  cried  the 
slave,  "  fair  and  softly  ;  what  a  pox  makes  you  give 


244  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

a  gentleman  more  names  than  be  has  ?  Gines  is  my 
Christian  name,  and  Passamonte  my  surname,  and 
not  Ginesillo,  nor  Parapilla,  as  you  say.  Blood! 
let  every  man  mind  what  he  says,  or  it  may  prove 
the  worse  for  him."  "  Don't  you  be  so  saucy,  Mr. 
Crack-rope,"  cried  the  officer  to  him,  "  or  I  may 
chance  to  make  you  keep  a  better  tongue  in  your 
head."  "  It  is  a  sign,"  cried  the  slave,  "  that  a  man 
is  fast,  and  under  the  lash;  but  one  day  or  other 
somebody  shall  know  whether  I  am  called  Parapilla 
or  no."  "  Why,  Mr.  Slipstring,"  replied  the  officer, 
"  do  not  people  call  you  by  that  name  ?  "  "  They 
do,"  answered  Gines,  "  but  I'll  make  them  call  me 
otherwise,  or  I'll  fleece  and  bite  them  worse  than  I 
care  to  tell  you  now.  But  you,  sir,  who  are  so 
inquisitive,"  added  he,  turning  to  Don  Quixote,  "  if 
you  have  a  mind  to  give  us  any  things  pray  do  it 
quickly,  and  go  your  ways  ;  for  I  don't  like  to  stand 
here  answering  questions  ;  broil  me !  I  am  Gines 
de  Passamonte,  I  am  not  ashamed  of  my  name. 
As  for  my  life  and  conversation,  there  is  an  account 
of  them  in  black  and  white,  written  with  this  nu- 
merical hand  of  mine."  "  There  he  tells  you  true," 
said  the  officer,  "  for  he  has  written  his  own  history 
himself,  without  omitting  a  tittle  of  his  roguish 
pranks;  and  he  has  left  the  manuscript  in  pawn  in 
the  prison  for  two  hundred  reals."  "  Ay,"  said  Gi- 
nes, "  and  will  redeem  it,  burn  me  !  though  it  lay 
there  for  as  many  ducats."  "  Then  it  must  be  an 
extraordinary  piece,"  cried  Don  Quixote.  "  So 
extraordinary,"  replied  Gines,  "  that  it  far  outdoes 
not  only  Lazarillo  de  Tonnes,  but  whatever  has 
been,  and  shall  be  written  in  that  kind;  for  mine  is 


DON   QUIXOTE.  245 

true  every  word,  and  no  invented  stories  can  com- 
pare with  it  for  variety  of  tricks  and  accidents." 
"  What  is  the  title  of  the  book?  "  asked  Don  Quix- 
ote. "  The  life  of  Gines  de  Passamonte,"  answered 
the  other.  "  Is  it  quite  finished  ?  "  asked  the  knight. 
"  How  the  devil  can  it  be  finished  and  I  yet  living?  " 
cried  the  slave.  "  There  is  in  it  every  material  point 
from  my  cradle,  to  this  my  last  going  to  the  galleys." 
"  Then  it  seems  you  have  been  there  .before,"  said 
Don  Quixote.  "  To  serve  God  and  the  king,  I  was 
some  four  years  there  once  before,"  replied  Gines : 
"  I  already  know  how  the  biscuit  and  the  bulls- 
pizzle  agree  with  my  carcass  :  it  does  not  grieve 
me  much  to  go  there  again,  for  there  I  shall  have 
leisure  to  give  a  finishing  stroke  to  my  book.  I  have 
the  devil  knows  what  to  add  ;  and  in  our  Spanish 
galleys  there  is  always  leisure  and  idle  time  enough 
o'conscience :  neither  shall  I  want  so  much  for  what 
I  have  to  insert,  for  I  know  it  all  by  heart." 

"  Thou  seemest  to  be  a  witty  fellow,"  said  Don 
Quixote.  "  You  should  have  said  unfortunate  too," 
replied  the  slave ;  "  for  the  bitch  Fortune  is  still 
unkind  to  men  of  wit."  "  You  mean  to  such  wick- 
ed wretches  as  yourself,"  cried  the  officer.  "  Look 
you,  Mr.  Commissary,"  said  Gines,  "  I  have  already 
desired  you  to  use  good  language.  The  law  did  not 
give  us  to  your  keeping  for  you  to  abuse  us,  but 
only  to  conduct  us  where  the  king  has  occasion  for 
us.  Let  every  man  mind  his  own  business,  and 
give  good  words,  or  hold  his  tongue ;  for  by  the 
blood  —  I  will  say  no  more,  murder  will  out ;  there 
will  be 'a  time  when  some  people's  rogueries  may 
come  to  light,  as  well  as  those  of  other  folks." 


246  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

With  that  the  officer,  provoked  by  the  slave's  threats, 
held  up  his  staff  to  strike  him;  but  Don  Quixote 
stepped  between  them,  and  desired  him  not  to  do 
it,  and  to  consider,  that  the  slave  was  the  more  to 
be  excused  for  being  too  free  of  his  tongue,  since 
he  had  ne'er  another  member  at  liberty.  Then  ad- 
dressing himself  to  all  the  slaves,  "  My  dearest  breth- 
ren," cried  he,  "  I  find,  by  what  I  gather  from  your 
own  words,  that  though  you  deserve  punishment 
for  the  several  crimes  of  which  you  stand  convicted, 
yet  you  suffer  execution  of  the  sentence  by  con- 
straint, and  merely  because  you  cannot  help  it.  Be- 
sides, it  is  not  unlikely  but  that  this  man's  want  of 
resolution  upon  the  rack,  the  other's  want  of  money, 
the  third's  want  of  friends  and  favor,  and,  in  short 
the  judges  perverting  and  wresting  the  law  to  your 
great  prejudice,  may  have  been  the  cause  of  your 
misery.  Now,  as  Heaven  has  sent  me  into  the  world 
to  relieve  the  distressed,  and  free  suffering  weakness 
from  the  tyranny  of  oppression,  according  to  the 
duty  of  my  profession  of  knight-errantry,  these  con- 
siderations induce  me  to  take  you  under  my  protec- 
tion. But  because  it  is  the  part  of  a  prudent  man 
not  to  use  violence  where  fair  means  may  be  effect- 
ual, I  desire  you,  gentlemen  of  the  guard,  to  release 
these  poor  men,  there  being  people  enough  to  serve 
his  majesty  in  their  places ;  for  it  is  a  hard  case  to 
make  slaves  of  men  whom  God  and  nature  made  free ; 
and  you  have  the  less  reason  to  use  these  wretches 
with  severity,  seeing  they  never  did  you  any  wrong. 
Let  them  answer  for  their  sins  in  the  other  world  ; 
heaven  is  just,  you  know,  and  will  be  sure  to  punish 
the  wicked,  as  it  will  certainly  reward  the  good. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  247 

Consider  besides,  gentlemen,  that  it  is  neither  a 
Christian-like,  nor  an  honorable  action,  for  men  to 
be  the  butchers  and  tormentors  of  one  another ; 
principally,  when  no  advantage  can  arise  from  it. 
I  choose  to  desire  this  of  you,  with  so  much  mildness, 
and  in  so  peaceable  a  manner,  gentlemen,  that  I 
may  have  occasion  to  pay  you  a  thankful  acknow- 
ledgment, if  you  will  be  pleased  to  grant  so  reason- 
able a  request :  but  if  you  provoke  me  by  refusal,  I 
must  be  obliged  to  tell  ye,  that  this  lance,  and  this 
sword,  guided  by  this  invincible  arm,  shall  force  you 
to  yield  that  to  my  valor  which  you  deny  to  my 
civil  entreaties." 

"A  very  good  jest,  indeed,"  cried  the  officer;  "what 
a  devil  makes  you  dote  at  such  a  rate  ?  would  you 
have  us  set  at  liberty  the  king's  prisoners,  as  if  we 
had  authority  to  do  it,  or  you  to  command  it?  Go, 
go  about  your  business,  good  Sir  Errant,  and  set 
your  basin  right  upon  your  empty  pate ;  and  pray 
do  not  meddle  any  further  in  what  does  not  concern 
you,  for  those  who  will  play  with  cats  must  expect 
to  be  scratched." 

"  Thou  art  a  cat,  and  rat,  and  a  coward  to  boot," 
cried  Don  Quixote ;  and  with  that  he  attacked  the 
officer  with  such  a  sudden  and  surprising  fury,  that 
before  he  had  any  time  to  put  himself  into  a  pos- 
ture of  defence,  he  struck  him  down,  dangerously 
wounded  with  his  lance ;  and,  as  fortune  had  or- 
dered it,  this  happened  to  be  the  horseman  who 
was  armed  with  a  carbine.  His  companions  stood 
astonished  at  such  a  bold  action,  but  at  last  fell 
upon  the  bold  champion  with  their  swords  and 
darts,  which  might  have  proved  fatal  to  him,  had 


248  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

not  the  slaves  laid  hold  of  this  opportunity  to  break 
the  chain,  in  order  to  regain  their  liberty ;  for  the 
guards,  perceiving  their  endeavors  to  get  loose, 
thought  it  more  material  to  prevent  them,  than  to 
be  fighting  a  madman :  but,  as  he  pressed  them 
vigorously  on  one  side,  and  the  slaves  were  oppos- 
ing them  and  freeing  themselves  on  the  other,  the 
hurly-burly  was  so  great,  and  the  guards  so  per- 
plexed, that  they  did  nothing  to  the  purpose.  In 
the  mean  time,  Sancho  was  helping  Gines  de  Pas- 
samonte  to  get  off  his  gyves,  which  he  did  sooner 
than  can  be  imagined ;  and  then  that  active  despe- 
rado having  seized  the  wounded  officer's  sword  and 
carbine,  he  joined  with  Don  Quixote,  and  some- 
times aiming  at  one,  and  sometimes  at  the  other,  as 
if  he  had  been  ready  to  shoot  them,  yet  still  with- 
out letting  off  the  piece,  the  other  slaves  at  the  same 
time  pouring  volleys  of  stone-shot  at  the  guards, 
they  betook  themselves  to  their  heels,  leaving  Don 
Quixote  and  the  criminals  masters  of  the  field. 
Sancho,  who  was  always  for  taking  care  of  the  main 
chance,  was  not  at  all  pleased  with  this  victory ;  for 
he  guessed  that  the  guards  who  were  fled,  would 
raise  a  hue  and  cry,  and  soon  be  at  their  heels  with 
the  whole  posse  of  the  holy  brotherhood,  and  lay 
them  up  for  a  rescue  and  rebellion.  This  made 
him  advise  his  master  to  get  out  of  the  way  as  fast 
as  he  could,  and  hide  himself  in  the  neighboring 
mountains.  "  I  hear  you,"  answered  Don  Quixote 
to  this  motion  of  his  squire,  "  and  1  know  what  I 
have  to  do."  Then  calling  to  him  all  the  slaves, 
who  by  this  time  had  uncased  the  keeper  to  his 
skin,  they  gathered  about  him  to  know  his  pleasure, 


DON   QUIXOTE.  249 

and  he  spoke  to  them  in  this  manner :  "  It  is  the 
part  of  generous  spirits  to  have  a  grateful  sense  of 
the  benefits  they  receive,  no  crime  being  more  odi- 
ous than  ingratitude.  You  see,  gentlemen,  what  I 
have  done  for  your  sakes,  and  you  cannot  but  be 
sensible  how  highly  you  are  obliged  to  me.  Now 
all  the  recompense  I  require  is,  only  that  every  one 
of  you,  loaden  with  that  chain  from  which  I  have 
freed  your  necks,  do  instantly  repair  to  the  city  of 
Toboso ;  and  there  presenting  yourselves  before  the 
Lady  Dulcinea  del  Toboso,  tell  her,  that  her  faith- 
ful votary,  the  Knight  of  the  Woful  Countenance, 
commanded  you  to  wait  on  her,  and  assure  her  of 
his  profound  veneration.  Then  you  shall  give  her 
an  exact  account  of  every  particular  relating  to  this 
famous  achievement,  by  which  you  once  more  taste 
the  sweets  of  liberty ;  which  done,  I  give  you  leave 
to  seek  your  fortunes  where  you  please." 

To  this  the  ringleader  and  master  thief,  Gines  de 
Passarnonte,  made  answer  for  all  the  rest,  "What 
you  would  have  us  to  do,"  said  he,  "  our  noble  de- 
liverer, is  absolutely  impracticable  and  impossible  ; 
for  we  dare  not  be  seen  all  together  for  the  world. 
We  must  rather  part,  and  skulk  some  one  way, 
some  another,  and  lie  snug  in  creeks  and  corners 
under  ground,  for  fear  of  those  damned  man-hounds 
that  will  be  after  us  with  a  hue  and  cry ;  therefore 
all  we  can  and  ought  to  do  in  this  case,  is  to  change 
this  compliment  and  homage  which  you  would 
have  us  pay  to  the  Lady  Dulcinea  del  Toboso,  into 
a  certain  number  of  Ave  Maries  and  Creeds,  which 
we  will  say  for  your  worship's  benefit ;  and  this 
may  be  done  by  night  or  by  day,  walking  or  stand- 


250  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

ing,  and  in  war  as  well  as  in  peace  :  but  to  imagine 
we  will  return  to  our  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  that  is  to 
say,  take  up  our  chains  again,  and  lug  them  the 
devil  knows  where,  is  as  unreasonable  as  to  think 
it  is  night  now  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
'Sdeath,  to  expect  this  from  us,  is  to  expect  pears 
from  an  elm-tree."  "  Now,  by  my  sword,"  replied 
Don  Quixote,  "  sir  son  of  a  whore,  Sir  Ginesello  de 
Parapilla,  or  whatever  be  your  name,  you  yourself, 
alone,  shall  go  to  Toboso,  like  a  dog  that  has 
scalded  his  tail,  with  the  whole  chain  about  your 
shoulders."  Gines,  who  was  naturally  very  chole- 
ric, judging  by  Don  Quixote's  extravagance  in  free- 
ing them,  that  he  was  not  very  wise,  winked  on  his 
companions,  who,  like  men  that  understood  signs, 
presently  fell  back  to  the  right  and  left,  and  pelted 
Don  Quixote  with  such  a  shower  of  stones,  that  all 
his  dexterity  to  cover  himself  with  his  shield,  was 
now  ineffectual,  and  poor  Rozinante  no  more  obey- 
ed the  spur,  than  if  he  had  been  only  the  statue  of 
a  horse.  As  for  Sancho,  he  got  behind  his  ass,  and 
there  sheltered  himself  from  the  volleys  of  flints 
that  threatened  his  bones,  while  his  master  was  so 
battered,  that  in  a  little  time  he  was  thrown  out  of 
his  saddle  to  the  ground.  He  was  no  sooner  down, 
but  the  student  leaped  on  him,  took  off  his  basin 
from  his  head,  gave  him  three  or  four  thumps  on 
the  shoulders  with  it,  and  then  gave  it  so  many 
knocks  against  the  stones,  that  he  almost  broke  it 
to  pieces.  After  this,  they  stripped  him  of  his  upper 
coat,  arid  had  robbed  him  of  his  hose  too,  but  that 
his  greaves  hindered  them.  They  also  eased  San- 
cho of  his  upper  coat,  and  left  him  in  his  doublet ; 


DON   QUIXOTE.  251 

then,  having  divided  the  spoils,  they  shifted  every 
one  for  himself,  thinking  more  how  to  avoid  being 
taken  up,  and  linked  again  in  the  chain,  than  of 
trudging  with  it  to  my  Lady  Dulcinea  del  Toboso. 
Thus  the  ass,  Rozinante,  Saneho,  and  Don  Quix- 
ote, remained  indeed  masters  of  the  field,  but  in  an 
ill  condition  :  the  ass  hanging  his  head,  and  pensive, 
shaking  his  ears  now  and  then,  as  if  the  volleys  of 
stones  had  still  whizzed  about  them  ;  Rozinante 
lying  in  a  desponding  manner,  for  he  had  been 
knocked  down  as  well  as  his  unhappy  rider ;  San- 
cho  uncased  to  his  doublet,  and  trembling  for  fear 
of  the  holy  brotherhood :  and  Don  Quixote  filled 
with  sullen  regret,  to  find  himself  so  barbarously 
used  by  those  whom  he  had  so  highly  obliged. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHAT  BEFELL  THE  RENOWNED  DON  QUIXOTE  IN  THE  SIERRA 
MORENA,  (BLACK  MOUNTAIN,)  BEING  ONE  OF  THE  RAREST 
ADVENTURES  IN  THIS  AUTHENTIC  HISTORY. 

DON  QUIXOTE,  finding  himself  so  ill  treated,  said 
to  his  squire :  "  Saneho,  I  have  always  heard  it  said, 
that  to  do  a  kindness  to  clowns,  is  like  throwing 
water  into  the  sea.*  Had  I  given  ear  to  thy  advice, 
I  had  prevented  this  misfortune  ;  but  since  the  thing 
is  done  it  is  needless  to  repine ;  this  shall  be  a 
warning  to  me  for  the  future."  "  That  is,"  quoth 
Saneho,  "when  the  devil  is  blind:  but  since  you 

*  It  is  labor  lost,  i>ecause  they  are  ungrateful. 


252  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

say,  you  had  escaped  this  mischief  had  you  believed 
rne,  good  sir,  believe  me  now,  and  you  will  escape 
a  greater ;  for  I  must  tell  you,  that  those  of  the  holy 
brotherhood  do  not  stand  in  awe   of  your  chivalry, 
nor  do  they  care  a  straw  for  all  the  knights-errant 
in  the  world.    Methinks  I  already  hear  their  arrows 
whizzing  about  my  ears."  *     "  Thou  art  naturally 
a  coward,  Sancho,"  cried  Don  Quixote  ;  "  neverthe- 
less, that  thou  mayest  not  say  I  am  obstinate,  and 
never  follow  thy  advice,  I  will  take  thy  counsel,  and 
for  once   convey  myself  out  of  the  reach   of  this 
dreadful  brotherhood,  that  so  strangely  alarms  thee ; 
but  upon  this  condition,  that  thou  never  tell  any 
mortal  creature,  neither  while  I  live,  nor  after  my 
death,  that  I  withdrew   myself  from   this   danger 
through  fear,  but  merely  to  comply  with   thy  en- 
treaties :  for  if  thou  ever  presume  to  say  otherwise, 
thou  wilt  belie  me  ;  and  from  this  time  to  that  time, 
and  from  that  time  to  the  world's  end,  I  give  thee 
the  lie,  and  thou  liest,  and  shalt  lie  in  thy  throat,  as 
often  as  thou  sayest,  or  but  thinkest  to  the  contrary. 
Therefore  do  not  offer  to  reply ;  for  shouldest  thou 
but  surmise,  that   I  would   avoid  any  danger,   and 
especially  this  which  seems  to  give  some  occasion 
or  color  for  fear,  I  would  certainly  stay  here,  though 
unattended  and  alone,  and  expect  and  face  not  only 
the  holy  brotherhood,  which  thou  dreadest  so  much, 
but  also  the  fraternity  or  twelve  heads  of  the  tribes 
of  Israel,  the  seven  Maccabees,  Castor  and  Pollux, 
and  all  the  brothers  and   brotherhoods  in  the  uni- 
verse."   "An't  please  your  worship,"  quoth  Sancho, 

*  The  troopers  of  the  holy  brotherhood  used  cross-bows. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  253 

"  to  withdraw  is  not  to  run  away,  and  to  stay  is  no 
wise  action,  when  there  is  more  reason  to  fear  than 
to  hope  ;  it  is  the  part  of  a  wise  man  to  keep  him- 
self to-day  for  to-morrow,  and  not  venture  all  his 
eggs  in  one  basket.  And  for  all  I  am  but  a  clown, 
or  a  bumpkin,  as  you  may  say,  yet  I  would  have 
you  to  know  ]  know  what's  what,  and  have  always 
taken  care  of  the  main  chance ;  therefore  do  not  be 
ashamed  of  being  ruled  by  me,  but  even  get  on 
horseback  an  you  are  able  :  come,  I  will  help  you, 
and  then  follow  me  ;  for  my  mind  plaguily  misgives 
me,  that  now  one  pair  of  heels  will  stand  us  in  more 
stead  than  two  pair  of  hands." 

Don  Quixote,  without  any  reply,  made  shift  to 
mount  Rozinante,  and  Sancho  on  his  ass  led  the 
way  to  the  neighboring  mountainous  desert  called 
Sierra  Morena,*  which  the  crafty  squire  had  a  de- 
sign to  cross  over,  and  get  out  at  the  farthest  end, 
either  at  Viso,  or  Almadovar  del  Campo,  and  in  the 
mean  time  to  lurk  in  the  craggy  and  almost  inacces- 
sible retreats  of  that  vast  mountain,  for  fear  of  fall- 
ing into  the  hands  of  the  holy  brotherhood.  He 
was  the  more  eager  to  steer  this  course,  finding  that 
the  provision  which  he  had  laid  on  his  ass  had  escap- 
ed plundering,  which  was  a  kind  of  miracle,  con- 
sidering how  narrowly  the  galley-slaves  had  searched 
everywhere  for  booty.  It  was  night  before  our  two 
travellers  got  to  the  middle  and  most  desert  part  of 

*  Sierra,  though  Spanish  for  a  mountain,  properly  means  (not 
a  chain,  but)  a  saw,  from  the  Latin  Serra,  because  of  its  ridges 
rising  and  falling  like  the  teeth  of  a  saw.  This  mountain  (called 
Morena  from  its  Moorish  or  swarthy  color)  parts  the  kingdom 
of  Castile  from  the  province  of  Andalusia. 


254  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

the  mountain ;  where  Sancho  advised  his  master  to 
gtay  some  days,  at  least  as  long  as  their  provisions 
lasted;  and  accordingly  that  night  they  took  up 
their  lodging  between  two  rocks,  among  a  great 
number  of  cork-trees :  but  fortune,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  opinion  of  those  that  have  not  the  light 
of  true  faith,  guides,  appoints,  and  contrives  all 
things  as  it  pleases,  directed  Gines  de  Passamonte 
(that  master-rogue,  who,  thanks  be  to  Don  Quix- 
ote's force  and  folly,  had  been  put  in  a  condition 
to  do  him  a  mischief)  to  this  very  part  of  the  moun- 
tain, in  order  to  hide  himself  till  the  heat  of  the 
pursuit,  which  he  had  just  cause  to  fear,  were  over. 
He  discovered  our  adventurers  much  about  the  time 
that  they  fell  asleep ;  and  as  wicked  men  are  always 
ungrateful,  and  urgent  necessity  prompts  many  to 
do  things,  at  the  very  thoughts  of  which  they  per- 
haps would  start  at  other  times,  Gines,  who  was  a 
stranger  both  to  gratitude  and  humanity,  resolved 
to  ride  away  with  Sancho's  ass ;  for  as  for  Rozi- 
nante,  he  looked  upon  him  as  a  thing  that  would 
neither  sell  nor  pawn  :  so  while  poor  Sancho  lay 
snoring,  he  spirited  away  his  darling  beast,  and 
made  such  haste,  that  before  day  he  thought  him- 
self and  his  prize  secure  from  the  unhappy  owner's 
pursuit. 

Now  Aurora  with  her  smiling  face  returned  to 
enliven  and  cheer  the  earth,  but  alas  !  to  grieve  and 
affright  Sancho  with  a  dismal  discovery  :  for  he  had 
no  sooner  opened  his  eyes,  but  he  missed  his  ass , 
and  finding  himself  deprived  of  that  dear  partner  of 
his  fortunes,  and  best  comfort  in  his  peregrinations, 
he  broke  out  into  the  most  pitiful  and  sad  lamenta- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  255 

tions  in  the  world  ;  insomuch  that  he  waked  Don 
Quixote  with  his  moans.  "  O  dear  child  of  my 
bowels,"  cried  he,  "  born  and  bred  under  my  roof, 
my  children's  playfellow,  the  comfort  of  my  wife, 
the  envy  of  my  neighbors,  the  ease  of  my  burdens, 
the  staff  of  my  life,  and  in  a  word,  half  my  main- 
tenance ;  for  with  six-and-twenty  maravedis,  which 
were  daily  earned  by  thee,  I  made  shift  to  keep  half 
my  family."  Don  Quixote,  who  easily  guessed  the 
cause  of  these  complaints,  strove  to  comfort  him 
with  kind  condoling  words,  and  learned  discourses 
upon  the  uncertainty  of  human  happiness  :  but  no- 
thing proved  so  effectual  to  assuage  his  sorrow,  as 
the  promise  which  his  master  made  him  of  drawing 
a  bill  of  exchange  on  his  niece  for  three  asses  out  of 
five  which  he  had  at  home,  payable  to  Sanchd 
Panza,  or  his  order;  which  prevailing  argument 
soon  dried  up  his  tears,  hushed  his  sighs  and  moans, 
and  turned  his  complaints  into  thanks  to  his  gene- 
rous master  for  so  unexpected  a  favor. 

And  now,  as  they  wandered  further  in  these 
mountains,  Don  Quixote  was  transported  with  joy 
to  find  himself  where  he  might  flatter  his  ambition 
with  the  hopes  of  fresh  adventures  to  signalize  his 
valor ;  for  these  vast  deserts  made  him  call  to  mind 
the  wonderful  exploits  of  other  knights-errant,  per- 
formed in  such  solitudes.  Filled  with  those  airy 
notions,  he  thought  on  nothing  else :  but  Sancho 
was  for  more  substantial  food  ;  and  now,  thinking 
himself  quite  out  of  the  reach  of  the  holy  brother- 
hood, his  only  care  was  to  fill  his  belly  with  the 
relics  of  the  clerical  booty ;  and  thus  sitting  side- 
ling, as  women  do,  upon  his  beast,  he  slily  took  out 


256     .  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

now  one  piece  of  meat,  then  another,  and  kept  his 
grinders  going  faster  than  his  feet.  Thus  plodding 
on,  he  would  not  have  given  a  rush  to  have  met 
with  any  other  adventure. 

While  he  was  thus  employed,  he  observed,  that 
his  master  endeavored  to  take  up  something  that 
lay  on  the  ground  with  the  end  of  his  lance :  this 
made  him  run  to  help  him  to  lift  up  the  bundle, 
which  proved  to  be  a  portmanteau,  and  the  seat  of 
a  saddle,  that  were  half,  or  rather  quite  rotted  with 
lying  exposed  to  the  weather.  The  portmanteau 
was  somewhat  heavy,  and  Don  Quixote  having  or- 
dered Sancho  to  see  what  it  contained,  though  it 
was  shut  with  a  chain  and  a  padlock,  he  easily  saw 
what  was  in  it  through  the  crack,  and  pulled  out 
four  fine  holland  shirts,  and  other  clean  and  fashion- 
able linen,  besides  a  considerable  quantity  of  gold 
tied  up  in  a  handkerchief.  "  Bless  my  eye-sight," 
quoth  Sancho;  "and  now,  heaven,  I  thank  thee  for 
sending  us  such  a  lucky  adventure  once  in  our 
lives ; "  with  that,  groping  further  in  the  portman- 
teau, he  found  a  table-book  richly  bound.  "  Give  me 
that,"  said  Don  Quixote,  "  and  do  thou  keep  the 
gold,"  "  Heaven  reward  your  worship,"  quoth  San- 
cho, kissing  his  master's  hand,  and  at  the  same  time 
clapping  up  the  linen  and  the  other  things  into  the 
bag  where  he  kept  the  victuals.  "  I  fancy,"  said 
Don  Quixote,  "  that  some  person,  having  lost  his 
way  in  these  mountains,  has  been  met  by  robbers, 
who  have  murdered  him,  and  buried  his  body  some- 
where hereabouts."  "  Sure  your  worship's  mis- 
taken," answered  Sancho,  "  for,  had  they  been  high- 
waymen, they  would  never  have  left  such  a  booty 


DON   QUIXOTE.  257 

behind  them."  "  Thou  art  in  the  right,"  replied 
Don  Quixote ;  "  and  therefore  I  cannot  imagine 
what  it  must  be.  Bat  stay,  I  will  examine  the  ta- 
ble-book, perhaps  we  shall  find  something  written 
in  that,  which  will  help  us  to  discover  what  I  would 
know."  With  that  he  opened  it,  and  the  first  thing 
he  found  was  the  following  rough  draught  of  a  son- 
net, fairly  enough  written  to  be  read  with  ease ;  so 
he  read  it  aloud,  that  Sancho  might  know  what  was 
in  it  as  well  as  himself; 

THE     RESOLVE. 
A  SONNET. 

Love  is  a  god  ne'er  knows  our  paiii, 

Or  cruelty's  his  darling  attribute ; 
Else  he'd  ne'er  force  me  to  complain, 

And  to  his  spite  my  raging  pain  impute. 

But  sure  if  Love's  a  god,  he  must 
Have  knowledge  equal  to  his  power; 

And  'tis  a  crime  to  think  a  god  unjust: 

Whence  then  the  pains  that  now  my  heart  devour  ? 

From  Phyllis  V  No :  why  do  I  pause  ? 

Such  cruel  ills  ne'er  boast  so  sweet  a  cause ; 
Nor  from  the  gods  such  torments  we  do  bear. 

Let  death  then  quickly  be  my  cure  : 
When  thus  we  ills  unknown  endure, 

"Tis  shortest  to  despair. 

"  The  devil  of  any  thing  can  be  picked  out  of 
this,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  unless  you  can  tell  who  that 
same  Phyll  is."  «  I  did  not  read  Phyll,  but  Phyllis," 
said  Don  Quixote.  "  O  then,  mayhap,  the  man  has 
lost  his  filly-foal."  "  Phyllis,"  said  Don  Quixote, 

VOL.  i.  17 


258  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

"  is  the  name  of  a  lady  that  is  beloved  by  the  author 
of  this  sonnet,  who  truly  seems  to  be  a  tolerable 
poet,*  or  I  have  but  little  judgment."  "Why  then," 
quoth  Sancho,  "  belike  your  worship  understands 
how  to  make  verses  too  ?  "  "  That  I  do,"  answered 
Don  Quixote,  "  and  better  than  thou  imaginest ;  as 
thou  shalt  see  when  I  shall  give  thee  a  letter  writ- 
ten all  in  verse  to  carry  to  my  Lady  Dulcinea  del 
Toboso  :  for,  I  must  tell  thee,  friend  Sancho,  all  the 
knights-errant,  or  at  least  the  greatest  part  of  them, 
in  former  times,  were  great  poets,  and  as  great  mu- 
sicians ;  those  qualifications,  or,  to  speak  better, 
those  two  gifts,  or  accomplishments,  being  almost 
inseparable  from  amorous  adventures :  though  I 
must  confess  the  verses  of  the  knights  in  former 
ages  are  not  altogether  so  polite,  nor  so  adorned 
with  words,  as  with  thoughts  and  inventions." 

"  Good  sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  look  again  into  the 
pocket-book,  mayhap  you  will  find  somewhat  that 
will  inform  you  of  what  you  would  know."  With 
that  Don  Quixote  turning  over  the  leaf,  "  Here's 
some  prose,"  cried  he,  "  and  I  think  it  is  the  sketch 
of  a  love-letter."  "  O  !  good  your  worship,"  quoth 
Sancho,  "  read  it  out  by  all  means,  for  I  delight 
mightily  in  hearing  of  love-stories." 

Don  Quixote  read  it  aloud,  and  found  what  fol- 
lows : 

"  The  falsehood  of  your  promises,  and  my  de- 
spair, hurry  me  from  you  for  ever ;  and  you  shall 
sooner  hear  the  news  of  my  death,  than  the  cause 

*  Cervantes  himself. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  259 

of  my  complaints.  You  have  forsaken  me,  ungrate- 
ful fair,  for  one  more  wealthy  indeed,  but  not  more 
deserving  than  your  abandoned  slave.  Were  virtue 
esteemed  a  treasure  equal  to  its  worth  by  your  un- 
thinking sex,  I  must  presume  to  say,  I  should  have 
no  reason  to  envy  the  wealth  of  others,  and  no  mis- 
fortune to  bewail.  What  your  beauty  has  raised, 
your  actions  have  destroyed  ;  the  first  made  me 
mistake  you  for  an  angel,  but  the  last  convince  me 
you  are  a  very  woman.  However,  O!  too  lovely 
disturber  of  my  peace,  may  uninterrupted  rest  and 
downy  ease  engross  your  happy  hours ;  and  may 
forgiving  heaven  still  keep  your  husband's  perfidi- 
ousness  concealed,  lest  it  should  cost  your  repent- 
ing heart  a  sigh  for  the  injustice  you  have  done  to 
so  faithful  a  lover,  and  so  I  should  be  prompted  to 
a  revenge  which  I  do  not  desire  to  take.  Farewell." 

"  This  letter,"  quoth  Don  Quixote,  "  does  not 
give  us  any  further  insight  into  the  things  we  would 
know ;  all  I  can  infer  from  it  is,  that  the  person  who 
wrote  it  was  a  betrayed  lover."  And  so  turning 
over  the  remaining  leaves,  he  found  several  other 
letters  and  verses,  some  of  wrhich  were  legible,  and 
some  so  scribbled,  that  he  could  make  nothing  of 
them.  As  for  those  he  read,  he  could  meet  with 
nothing  in  them  but  accusations,  complaints  and 
expostulations,  distrusts  and  jealousies,  pleasures 
and  discontents,  favors  and  disdain,  the  one  highly 
valued,  the  other  as  mournfully  resented.  And 
while  the  knight  was  poring  on  the  table-book, 
Saricho  was  rummaging  the  portmanteau,  and  the 
seat  of  the  saddle,  with  that  exactness,  that  he  did 


260  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

not  leave  a  corner  unsearched,  nor  a  seam  unripped, 
nor  a  single  lock  of  wool  unpicked ;  for  the  gold  he 
had  found,  which  was  above  an  hundred  ducals, 
had  but  whetted  his  greedy  appetite,  and  made  him 
wild  for  more.  Yet  though  this  was  all  he  could 
find,  he  thought  himself  well  paid  for  the  more  than 
Herculean  labors  he  had  undergone  ;  nor  could  he 
now  repine  at  his  being  tossed  in  a  blanket,  the 
straining  and  griping  operation  of  the  balsam,  the 
benedictions  of  the  pack-staves  and  leavers,  the 
fisticuffs  of  the  lewd  carrier,  the  loss  of  his  cloak, 
his  dear  wallet,  and  of  his  dearer  ass,  and  all  the 
hunger,  thirst,  and  fatigue,  which  he  had  suffered 
in  his  kind  master's  service.  On  the  other  side,  the 
Knight  of  the  Woful  Figure  strangely  desired  to 
know  who  was  the  owner  of  the  portmanteau, 
guessing  by  the  verses,  the  letter,  the  linen,  and  the 
gold,  that  he  was  a  person  of  worth,  whom  the  dis- 
dain and  unkindness  of  his  mistress  had  driven  to 
despair.  At  length,  however,  he  gave  over  the 
thoughts  of  it,  discovering  nobody  through  that  vast 
desert ;  and  so  he  rode  on,  wholly  guided  by  Rozi- 
nante's  discretion,  which  always  made  the  grave, 
sagacious  creature  choose  the  plainest  and  smooth- 
est way;  the  master  still  firmly  believing,  that  in 
those  woody  uncultivated  forests  he  should  infalli- 
bly start  some  wonderful  adventure. 

And  indeed,  while  these  hopes  possessed  him,  he 
spied  upon  the  top  of  a  stony  crag  just  before  him 
a  man  that  skipped  from  rock  to  rock,  over  briars 
and  bushes,  with  wonderful  agility.  He  seemed  to 
him  naked  from  the  waist  upwards,  with  a  thick 
black  beard,  his  hair  long,  and  strangely  tangled, 


DON   QUIXOTE.  261 

his  head,  legs,  and  feet  bare ;  on  his  hips  a  pair  of 
breeches,  that  appeared  to  be  of  sad-colored  velvet, 
but  so  tattered  and  torn,  that  they  discovered  his 
skin  in  many  places.  These  particulars  were  ob- 
served by  Don  Quixote  while  he  passed  by,  and  he 
followed  him,  endeavoring  to  overtake  him,  for  he 
presently  guessed  this  was  the  owner  of  the  port- 
manteau. But  Rozinante,  who  was  naturally  slow 
and  phlegmatic,  was  in  too  weak  a  case  besides  to 
run  races  with  so  swift  an  apparition :  yet  the 
Knight  of  the  Woful  Figure  resolved  to  find  out 
that  unhappy  creature,  though  he  were  to  bestow  a 
whole  year  in  the  search  ;  and  to  that  intent  he  or- 
dered Sancho  to  beat  one  side  of  the  mountain, 
while  he  hunted  the  other.  "  In  good  sooth,"  quoth 
Sancho,  "  your  worship  must  excuse  me  as  to  that ; 
for  if  I  but  offer  to  stir  an  inch  from  you,  I  am  al- 
most frighted  out  of  my  seven  senses  :  and  let  this 
serve  you  hereafter  for  a  warning,  that  you  may  not 
send  me  a  nail's  breadth  from  your  presence." 
"  Well,"  said  the  knight,  "  I  will  take  thy  case  into 
consideration ;  and  it  does  not  displease  me,  San- 
cho, to  see  thee  thus  rely  upon  my  valor,  which,  I 
dare  assure  thee,  shall  never  fail  thee,  though  thy 
very  soul  should  be  scared  out  of  thy  body.  Fol- 
low me,  therefore,  step  by  step,  with  as  much  haste 
as  is  consistent  with  good  speed  ;  and  let  thy  eyes 
pry  everywhere  while  we  search  every  part  of  this 
vock,  where,  it  is  probable,  we  may  meet  with  that 
wretched  mortal,  who  doubtless  is  the  owner  of  the 
portmanteau." 

"  Odsnigs,  sir,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  I  had  rather  get 
out  of  his  way ;  for,  should  we  chance  to  meet  him, 


262  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

and  he  lay  claim  to  the  portmanteau,  it  is  a  plain 
case  I  shall  be  forced  to  part  with  the  money :  and 
therefore  I  think  it  much  better,  without  making  so 
much  ado,  to  let  me  keep  it  bond  fide,  till  we  can 
light  on  the  right  owner  some  more  easy  way,  and 
without  dancing  after  him  ;  which  may  not  happen 
till  we  have  spent  all  the  money ;  and  in  that  case 
I  am  free  from  the  law,  and  he  may  go  whistle  for 
it."  "  Thou  art  mistaken,  Sancho,"  cried  Don 
Quixote ;  "  for  seeing  we  have  some  reason  to 
think  that  we  know  who  is  the  owner,  we  are  bound 
in  conscience  to  endeavor  to  find  him  out,  and  re- 
store it  to  him ;  the  rather,  because  should  we  not 
now  strive  to  meet  him,  yet  the  strong  presumption 
we  have  that  the  goods  belong  to  him,  would  make 
us  possessors  of  them  maid  fide,  and  render  us  as 
guilty  as  if  the  party  whom  we  suspect  to  have 
lost  the  things,  were  really  the  right  owner ;  there- 
fore, friend  Sancho,  do  not  think  much  of  searching 
for  him,  since,  if  we  find  him  out,  it  will  extremely 
ease  my  mind." 

With  that  he  spurred  Rozinante  ;  and  Sancho, 
not  very  well  pleased,  followed  him,  comforting 
himself,  however,  with  the  hopes  of  the  three  asses 
which  his  master  had  promised  him.  So  when 
they  had  rode  over  the  greatest  part  of  the  moun- 
tain, they  came  to  a  brook,  where  they  found  a 
mule  lying  dead,  with  her  saddle  and  bridle  about 
her,  and  herself  half  devoured  by  beasts  and  birds 
of  prey  ;  which  discovery  further  confirmed  them 
in  their  suspicion,  that  the  man  who  fled  so  nimbly 
from  them  was  the  owner  of  the  mule  and  port- 
manteau. Now  as  they  paused  and  pondered  upon 


DON  QUIXOTE.  263 

this,  they  heard  a  whistling  like  that  of  some  shep- 
herd keeping  his  flocks ;  and  presently  after,  upon 
their  left  hand,  they  spied  a  great  number  of  goats 
with  an  old  herdsman  after  them,  on  the  top  of  the 
mountain.  Don  Quixote  called  out  to  him,  and 
desired  him  to  corne  down  ;  but  the  goat-herd,  in- 
stead of  answering  him,  asked  them  in  as  loud  a 
tone,  how  they  came  thither  in  those  deserts,  where 
scarce  any  living  creature  resorted  except  goats, 
wolves,  and  other  wild  beasts  ?  Sancho  told  him 
they  would  satisfy  him  as  to  that  point,  if  he  would 
come  where  they  were.  With  that  the  goat-herd 
came  down  to  them ;  and  seeing  them  look  upon 
the  dead  mule,  "  That  dead  mule,"  said  the  old  fel- 
low, "  has  lain  in  that  very  place  this  six  months ; 
but  pray  tell  me,  good  people,  have  you  not  met  the 
master  of  it  by  the  way?"  "We  have  met  no- 
body," answered  Don  Quixote ;  "  but  we  found  a 
portmanteau  and  a  saddle-cushion  not  far  from  this 
place."  "  I  have  seen  it,  too,"  quoth  the  goat-herd, 
"  but  I  never  durst  meddle  with  it,  nor  so  much  as 
come  near  it,  for  fear  of  some  misdemeanor,  lest  I 
should  be  charged  with  having  stolen  somewhat  out 
of  it :  for  who  knows  what  might  happen  ?  the 
devil  is  subtle,  and  sometimes  lays  baits  in  our  way 
to  tempt  us,  or  blocks  to  make  us  stumble."  "  It 
is  just  so  with  me,  gaffer,"  quoth  Sancho ;  "  for  I 
saw  the  portmanteau  too,  d'ye  see,  but  the  devil  a 
bit  would  I  come  within  a  stone's  throw  of  it ;  no, 
there  I  found  it,  and  there  I  left  it;  i'faith,  it  shall 
e'en  lie  there  still  for  me.  He  that  steals  a  bell- 
wether, shall  be  discovered  by  the  bell."  "  Tell 
me,  honest  friend,"  asked  Don  Quixote,  "  dost  thou 


264  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

know  who  is  the  owner  of  those  things?"  "All  I 
know  of  the  matter,"  answered  the  goat-herd,  "  is, 
that  it  is  now  six  months,  little  more  or  less,  since 
to  a  certain  sheep-fold,  some  three  leagues  off,  there 
came  a  young,  well-featured,  proper  gentleman  in 
good  clothes,  and  under  him  this  same  mule  that 
now  lies  dead  here,  with  the  cushion  and  cloak-bag, 
which  you  say  you  met,  but  touched  riot.  He 
asked  us  which  was  the  most  desert  and  least  fre- 
quented part  of  these  mountains  ?  and  we  told  him 
this  where  we  are  now ;  and  in  that  we  spoke  the 
plain  truth,  for  should  you  venture  to  go  but  half  a 
league  further,  you  would  hardly  be  able  to  get 
back  again  in  haste  ;  and  I  marvel  how  you  could 
get  even  thus  far ;  for  there  is  neither  highway  nor 
foot-path  that  may  direct  a  man  this  way.  Now, 
as  soon  as  the  young  gentleman  had  heard  our  an- 
swer, he  turned  about  his  mule,  and  made  to  the 
place  we  showed  him,  leaving  us  all  with  a  hugeous 
liking  to  his  comeliness,  and  strangely  marvelling  at 
his  demand,  and  the  haste  he  made  towards  the  mid- 
dle of  the  mountain.  After  that  we  heard  no  more 
of  him  in  a  great  while,  till  one  day  by  chance  one 
of  the  shepherds  coming  by,  he  fell  upon  him  with- 
out saying  why  or  wherefore,  and  beat  him  without 
mercy  :  after  that  he  went  to  the  ass  that  carried 
our  victuals,  and,  taking  away  all  the  bread  and 
cheese  that  was  there,  he  tripped  back  again  to  the 
mountain  with  wondrous  speed.  Hearing  this,  a 
good  number  of  us  together  resolved  to  find  him 
out ;  and  when  we  had  spent  the  best  part  of  two 
days  in  the  thickest  of  the  forest,  we  found  him  at 
last  lurking  in  the  hollow  of  a  huge  cork-tree,  from 


DON   QUIXOTE.  265 

whence  he  came  forth  to  meet  us  as  mild  as  could 
be.  But  then  he  was  so  altered,  his  face  was  so  dis- 
figured, wan,  and  sun-burnt,  that,  had  it  not  been 
for  his  attire,  which  we  made  shift  to  know  again, 
though  it  was  all  in  rags  and  tatters,  we  could  not 
have  thought  it  had  been  the  same  man.  He  sa- 
luted us  courteously,  and  told  us  in  few  words, 
mighty  handsomely  put  together,  that  we  were  not 
to  marvel  to  see  him  in  that  manner,  for  that  it  be- 
hooved him  so  to  be,  that  he  might  fulfil  a  certain 
penance  enjoined  him  for  the  great  sins  he  had  com- 
mitted. We  prayed  him  to  tell  us  who  he  was,  but  he 
would  by  no  means  do  it :  we  likewise  desired  him 
to  let  us  know  where  we  might  find  him,  that  when- 
soever he  wanted  victuals  we  might  bring  him  some, 
which  we  told  him  we  would  be  sure  to  do,  for 
otherwise  he  would  be  starved  in  that  barren  place ; 
requesting  him,  that  if  he  did  not  like  that  motion 
neither,  he  would  at  leastwise  come  and  ask  us  for 
what  he  wanted,  and  not  take  it  by  force  as  he  had 
done.  He  thanked  us  heartily  for  our  offer,  and 
begged  pardon  for  that  injury,  and  promised  to  ask 
it  henceforwards  as  an  alms,  without  setting  upon 
any  one.  As  for  his  place  of  abode,  he  told  us  he 
had  none  certain,  but  wherever  night  caught  him, 
there  he  lay :  and  he  ended  his  discourse  with  such 
bitter  moans,  that  we  must  have  had  hearts  of  flint 
had  we  not  had  a  feeling  of  them,  and  kept  him 
company  therein  ;  chiefly  considering  we  beheld  him 
so  strangely  altered  from  what  we  had  seen  him  be- 
fore:  for,  as  I  said,  he  was  a  very  fine  comely  young 
man,  and  by  his  speech  and  behaviour  we  could 
guess  him  to  be  well  born,  and  a  courtlike  sort  of 


266  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

a  body :  for  though  we  were  but  clowns,  yet  such 
was  his  genteel  behavior,  that  we  could  not  help 
being  taken  with  it.  Now  as  he  was  talking  to  us, 
he  stopped  of  a  sudden,  as  if  he  had  been  struck 
dumb,  fixing  his  eyes  steadfastly  on  the  ground  ; 
whereat  we  all  stood  in  amaze.  After  he  had  thus 
stared  a  good  while,  he  shut  his  eyes,  then  opened 
them  again,  bit  his  lips,  knit  his  brows,  clutched  his 
fists ;  and  then  rising  from  the  ground,  whereon  he 
had  thrown  himself  a  little  before,  he  flew  at  the 
man  that  stood  next  to  him  with  such  a  fury,  that 
if  we  had  not  pulled  him  off  by  main  force,  he 
would  have  bit  and  thumped  him  to  death ;  and 
all  the  while  he  cried  out,  "Ah  !  traitor  Ferdinand, 
here,  here  thou  shalt  pay  for  the  wrong  thou  hast 
done  me  ;  I  must  rip  up  that  false  heart  of  thine  ;" 
and  a  deal  more  he  added,  all  in  dispraise  of  that 
same  Ferdinand.  After  that  he  flung  from  us  with- 
out saying  a  word,  leaping  over  the  bushes  and 
brambles  at  such  a  strange  rate,  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  us  to  come  at  him ;  from  which  we  gathered, 
that  his  madness  comes  on  him  by  fits,  and  that 
some  one  called  Ferdinand  had  done  him  an  ill  turn, 
that  hath  brought  the  poor  young  man  to  this  pass. 
And  this  hath  been  confirmed  since  that  many  and 
many  times  :  for  when  he  is  in  his  right  senses,  he 
will  come  and  beg  for  victuals,  and  thank  us  for  it 
with  tears :  but  when  he  is  in  his  mad  fit,  he  will 
beat  us  though  we  proffer  him  meat  civilly :  and  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  sirs,"  added  the  goat-herd,  "  I  and 
four  others,  of  whom  two  are  my  men,  and  the  other 
two  my  friends,  yesterday  agreed  to  look  for  him 
till  we  should  find  him  out,  either  by  fair  means  or 


DON   QUIXOTE.  267 

by  force  to  carry  him  to  Almodover  town,  that  is 
but  eight  leagues  oft';  and  there  we  will  have  him 
cured,  if  possible,  or  at  least  we  shall  learn  what  he 
is  when  he  comes  to  his  wits,  and  whether  he  has 
any  friends  to  whom  he  may  be  sent  back.  This  is 
all  I  know  of  the  matter ;  and  I  dare  assure  you, 
that  the  owner  of  those  things  which  you  saw  in  the 
way,  is  the  self-same  body  that  went  so  nimbly  by 
you ; "  for  Don  Quixote  had  by  this  time  acquainted 
the  goat-herd  of  his  having  seen  that  man  skipping 
among  the  rocks. 

The  knight  was  wonderfully  concerned  when  he 
had  heard  the  goat-herd's  story,  and  renewed  his  re- 
solution of  finding  out  that  distracted  wretch,  what- 
ever time  and  pains  it  might  cost  him.  But  fortune 
was  more  propitious  to  his  desires  than  he  could 
reasonably  have  expected  :  for  just  as  they  were 
speaking  they  spied  him  right  against  the  place 
where  they  stoo3,  coming  towards  them  out  of  the 
cleft  of  a  rock,  muttering  somewhat  to  himself, 
which  they  could  not  well  have  understood  had  they 
stood  close  by  him,  much  less  could  they  guess  his 
meaning  at  that  distance.  His  apparel  was  such  as 
has  already  been  said,  only  Don  Quixote  observed 
when  he  drew  nearer,  that  he  had  on  a  chamois 
waistcoat,  torn  in  many  places,  which  yet  the  knight 
found  to  be  perfumed  with  amber ;  and  by  this,  as 
also  by  the  rest  of  his  clothes,  and  other  conjectures, 
he  judged  him  to  be  a  man  of  some  quality.  As 
soon  as  the  unhappy  creature  came  near  them,  he 
saluted  them  very  civilly,  but  with  a  hoarse  voice. 
Don  Quixote  returned  his  civilities,  and,  alighting 
from  Rozinante,  accosted  him  in  a  very  graceful 


268  THE  ACHIEVEMENTS   OF 

manner,  and  hugged  him  close  in  his  arms,  as  if  he 
had  been  one  of  his  intimate  acquaintance.  The 
other,  whom  we  may  venture  to  call  the  Knight  of 
the  Ragged  Figure,  as  well  as  Don  Quixote,  the 
Knight  of  the  Woful  Figure,  having  got  loose  from 
that  embrace,  could  not  forbear  stepping  back  a 
little,  and  laying  his  hands  on  the  companion's 
shoulders,  he  stood  staring  in  his  face,  as  if  he  had 
been  striving  to  call  to  mind  whether  he  had  known 
him  before,  probably  wondering  as  much  to  behold 
Don  Quixote's  countenance,  armor,  and  strange 
figure,  as  Don  Quixote  did  to  see  his  tattered  con- 
dition :  but  the  first  that  opened  his  mouth  after  this 
pause  was  the  Ragged  Knight,  as  you  shall  find  by 
the  sequel  of  the  story. 


CHAPTER  X.. 

THE  ADVENTURE  IN  THE   SIERKA-MORENA   CONTINUED. 

THE  history  relates,  that  Don  Quixote  listened 
with  great  attention  to  the  disastrous  Knight  of  the 
Mountain,  who  made  him  the  following  compliment, 
"  Truly,  sir,  whoever  you  be,  (for  I  have  not  the  ho- 
nor to  know  you,)  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for 
your  expressions  of  civility  and  friendship ;  and  I 
could  wish  I  were  in  a  condition  to  convince  you 
otherwise  than  by  words  of  the  deep  sense  I  have 
of  them  :  but  my  bad  fortune  leaves  me  nothing  to 
return  for  so  many  favors,  but  unprofitable  wishes." 
"  Sir,"  answered  Don  Quixote,  "I  have  so  hearty  a 
desire  to  serve  you,  that  I  was  fully  resolved  not  to 


DON   QUIXOTE.  269 

depart  these  mountains  till  I  had  found  you  out, 
that  I  might  know  from  yourself,  whether  the  dis- 
contents that  have  urged  you  to  make  choice  of  this 
unusual  course  of  life,  might  not  admit  of  a  reme- 
dy ;  for  if  they  do,  assure  yourself  I  will  leave  no 
means  untried,  till  I  have  purchased  you  that  ease 
which  I  heartily  wish  you  :  or  if  your  disasters  are 
of  that  fatal  kind  that  exclude  you  for  ever  from  the 
hopes  of  comfort  or  relief,  then  will  I  mingle  sor- 
rows with  you,  and,  by  sharing  your  load  of  grief, 
help  you  to  bear  the  oppressing  weight  of  affliction  ; 
for  it  is  the  only  comfort  of  the  miserable  to  have 
partners  in  their  woes.  If,  then,  good  intentions  may 
plead  merit,  or  a  grateful  requital,  let  me  entreat 
yon,  sir,  by  that  generous  nature  that  shoots  through 
the  gloom  with  which  adversity  has  clouded  your 
graceful  outside ;  nay,  let  me  conjure  you  by  the 
darling  object  of  your  wishes,  to  let  me  know  who 
you  are,  and  what  strange  misfortunes  have  urged 
you  to  withdraw  from  the  converse  of  your  fellow- 
creatures,  to  bury  yourself  alive  in  this  horrid  soli- 
tude, where  you  linger  out  a  wretched  being,  a 
stranger  to  ease,  to  all  mankind,  and  even  to  your 
very  self.  "  And  I  solemnly  swear,"  added  Don 
Quixote,  "  by  the  order  of  knighthood,  of  which  I 
am  an  unworthy  professor,  that  if  you  so  far  gratify 
my  desires,  I  will  assist  you  to  the  utmost  of  my 
capacity,  either  by  remedying  your  disaster,  if  it 
is  not  past  redress ;  or  at  least  I  will  become  your 
partner  in  sorrow,  and  strive  to  ease  it  by  a  society 
in  sadness. " 

The  Knight  of  the  Wood,  hearing  the  Knight  of 
the  Woful  Figure  talk  at  that  rate,  looked  upon  him, 


270  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

steadfastly  for  a  long  time,  and  viewed,  and  reviewed 
him  from  head  to  foot ;  and  when  he  had  gazed  a 
great  while  upon  him,  "  Sir,"  cried  he,  "  if  you  have 
any  thing  to  eat,  for  heaven's  sake  give  it  me,  and 
when  my  hunger  is  abated,  I  shall  be  better  able  to 
comply  with  your  desires,  which  your  great  civili- 
ties and  undeserved  offers  oblige  me  to  satisfy." 
Sancho  and  the  goat-herd,  hearing  this,  presently 
took  out  some  victuals,  the  one  out  of  his  bag,  the 
other  out  of  his  scrip,  and  gave  it  to  the  ragged 
knight  to  allay  his  hunger,  who  immediately  fell  on 
with  that  greedy  haste,  that  he  seemed  rather  to  de- 
vour than  feed;  for  he  used  no  intermission  between 
bit  and  bit,  so  greedily  he  chopped  them  up ;  and 
all  the  time  he  was  eating,  neither  he,  nor  the  by- 
standers, spoke  the  least  word.  When  he  had  as- 
suaged his  voracious  appetite,  he  beckoned  to  Don 
Quixote  and  the  rest  to  follow  him ;  and  after  he 
had  brought  them  to  a  neighboring  meadow,  he 
laid  himself  at  his  ease  on  the  grass,  where  the  rest 
of  the  company  sitting  down  by  him,  neither  he  nor 
they  having  yet  spoke  a  word  since  he  fell  to  eating, 
he  began  in  this  manner : 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  if  you  intend  to  be  in- 
formed of  my  misfortunes,  you  must  promise  me 
beforehand  not  to  cut  off  the  thread  of  my  doleful 
narration  with  any  questions,  or  any  other  interrup- 
tion ;  for  in  the  very  instant  that  any  of  you  does  it, 
I  shall  leave  off  abruptly,  and  will  not  afterwards 
go  on  with  the  story. "  This  preamble  put  Don 
Quixote  in  mind  of  Sancho's  ridiculous  tale,  which 
by  his  neglect  in  not  telling  the  goats,  was  brought 
to  an  untimely  conclusion.  "  I  only  use  this  pre- 


DON  QUIXOTE.  271 

caution,"  added  the  ragged  knight,  "because  1 
would  be  quick  in  my  relation  ;  for  the  very  remem- 
brance of  my  former  misfortune  proves  a  new  one 
to  me,  and  yet  I  promise  you,  will  endeavor  to  omit 
nothing  that  is  material,  that  you  may  have  as  full 
an  account  of  my  disasters  as  I  am  sensible  you 
desire."  Thereupon  Don  Quixote,  for  himself  and 
the  rest,  having  promised  him  uninterrupted  atten- 
tion, he  proceeded  in  this  manner: 

"  My  name  is  Cardenio,  the  place  of  my  birth  one 
of  the  best  cities  in  Andalusia ;  my  descent  noble, 
my  parents  wealthy,  but  my  misfortunes  are  so 
great,  that  they  have  doubtless  filled  my  relations 
with  the  deepest  of  sorrows ;  nor  are  they  to  be 
remedied  with  wealth,  for  goods  of  fortune  avail  but 
little  against  the  anger  of  heaven.  In  the  same 
town  dwelt  the  charming  Lucinda,  the  most  beauti- 
ful creature  that  ever  nature  framed,  equal  in  descent 
and  fortune  to  myself,  but  more  happy  and  less  con- 
stant. I  loved,  nay  adored  her  almost  from  her  in- 
fancy ;  and  from  her  tender  years  she  blessed  me 
with  as  kind  a  return  as  is  suitable  with  the  inno- 
cent freedom  of  that  age.  Our  parents  were  con- 
scious of  that  early  friendship ;  nor  did  they  oppose 
the  growth  of  this  inoffensive  passion,  which  they 
perceived  could  have  no  other  consequences  than  a 
happy  union  of  our  families  by  marriage ;  a  thing 
which  the  equality  of  our  births  and  fortunes  did 
indeed  of  itself  almost  invite  us  to.  Afterwards  our 
loves  so  grew  up  with  our  years,  that  Lucinda's 
father,  either  judging  our  usual  familiarity  prejudi- 
cial to  his  daughter's  honor,  or  for  some  other  rea- 
sons, sent  to  desire  me  to  discontinue  my  frequent 


272  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

visits  to  his  house  :  but  this  restraint  proved  but 
like  that  which  was  used  by  the  parents  of  that  lov- 
ing Thisbe,  so  celebrated  by  the  poets,  and  but  ad- 
ded flames  to  flames,  and  impatience  to  desires. 
As  our  tongues  were  now  debarred  their  former  pri- 
vilege, we  had  recourse  to  our  pens,  which  assumed 
the  greater  freedom  to  disclose  the  most  hidden 
secrets  of  our  hearts ;  for  the  presence  of  the  belov- 
ed object  often  heightens  a  certain  awe  and  bash- 
fulness,  that  disorders,  confounds,  and  strikes  dumb, 
even  the  most  passionate  lover.  How  many  letters 
have  I  wrote  to  that  lovely  charmer !  how  many  soft 
moving  verses  have  I  addressed  to  her !  what  kind, 
yet  honorable  returns  have  I  received  from  her !  the 
mutual  pledges  of  our  secret  love,  and  the  innocent 
consolations  of  a  violent  passion.  At  length,  lan- 
guishing and  wasting  with  desire,  deprived  of  that 
reviving  comfort  of  my  soul,  I  resolved  to  remove 
those  bars  with  which  her  father's  care  and  decent 
caution  obstructed  my  only  happiness,  by  demand- 
ing her  of  him  in  marriage  :  he  very  civilly  told  me, 
that  he  thanked  me  for  the  honor  I  did  him,  but 
that  I  had  a  father  alive,  whose  consent  was  to  be 
obtained  as  well  as  his,  and  who  was  the  most  pro- 
per person  to  make  such  a  proposal.  I  thanked  hirn 
for  his  civil  answer,  and  thought  it  carried  some 
show  of  reason,  not  doubting  but  my  father  would 
readily  consent  to  the  proposal.  I  therefore  imme- 
diately went  to  wait  on  him,  with  a  design  to  beg 
his  approbation  and  assistance.  I  found  him  in  his 
chamber  with  a  letter  opened  before  him,  which,  as 
soon  as  he  saw  me,  he  put  into  my  hand,  before  I 
could  have  time  to  acquaint  him  with  my  business. 


DON    QUIXOTE.  273 

;  Cardenio,'  said  he,  '  you  will  see  by  this  letter  the 
extraordinary  kindness  that  Duke  Ricardo  has  for 
you.'  I  suppose  I  need  not  tell  you,  gentlemen, 
that  this  Duke  Ricardo  is  a  grandee  of  Spain,  most 
of  whose  estate  lies  in  the  best  part  of  Andalusia. 
I  read  the  letter,  and  found  it  contained  so  kind  and 
advantageous  an  offer,  that  my  father  could  not  but 
accept  of  it  with  thankfulness;  for  the  duke  entreat- 
ed him  to  send  me  to  him  with  all  speed,  that  I 
might  be  the  companion  of  his  eldest  son,  promis- 
ing withal  to  advance  me  to  a  post  answerable  to 
the  good  opinion  he  had  of  me. 

"  This  unexpected  news  struck  me  dumb ;  but 
my  surprise  and  disappointment  were  much  greater, 
when  I  heard  my  father  say  to  me,  '  Cardenio,  you 
must  get  ready  to  be  gone  in  two  days  :  in  the  mean 
time  give  heaven  thanks  for  opening  you  a  way  to 
that  preferment  which  I  am  so  sensible  you  deserve.' 
After  this  he  gave  me  several  wise  admonitions  both 
as  father  and  a  man  of  business,  and  then  he  left  me. 
The  day  fixed  for  my  journey  quickly  came ;  how- 
ever, the  night  that  preceded  it,  I  spoke  to  Lucinda 
at  her  window,  and  told  her  what  had  happened. 
I  also  gave  her  father  a  visit,  and  informed  him  of  it 
too,  beseeching  him  to  preserve  his  good  opinion  of 
me,  and  defer  the  bestowing  of  his  daughter  till  I 
had  been  with  Duke  Ricardo,  which  he  kindly  pro- 
mised me  :  and  then,  Lucinda  and  I,  after  an  ex- 
change of  vows  and  protestations  of  eternal  fidelity, 
took  our  leaves  of  each  other  with  all  the  grief 
which  two  tender  and  passionate  lovers  can  feel  at 
a  separation. 

"  I  left  the  town,  and  went  to  wait  upon  the 

VOL.  i.  1S 


274  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

duke,  who  received  and  entertained  me  with  that 
extraordinary  kindness  and  civility  that  soon  raised 
the  envy  of  his  greatest  favorities.  But  he  that 
most  endearingly  caressed  me,  was  Don  Ferdinand, 
the  duke's  second  son,  a  young,  airy,  handsome, 
generous  gentleman,  and  of  a  very  amorous  dispo- 
sition ;  he  seemed  to  be  overjoyed  at  my  coming, 
and  in  a  most  obliging  manner  told  me,  he  would 
have  me  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends.  In  short, 
he  so  really  convinced  me  of  his  affection,  that  though 
his  elder  brother  gave  me  many  testimonies  of  love 
and  esteem,  yet  could  I  easily  distinguish  between 
their  favors.  Now,  as  it  is  common  for  bosom 
friends  to  keep  nothing  secret  from  each  other,  Don 
Ferdinand,  relying  as  much  on  my  fidelity,  as  I  had 
reason  to  depend  on  his,  revealed  to  me  his  most 
private  thoughts ;  and  among  the  rest,  his  being  in 
love  with  the  daughter  of  a  very  rich  fanner,  who 
was  his  father's  vassal.  The  beauty  of  that  lovely 
country  maid,  her  virtue,  her  discretion,  and  the 
other  graces  of  her  mind,  gained  her  the  admira- 
tion of  all  those  who  approached  her  :  and  those 
uncommon  endowments  had  so  charmed  the  soul 
of  Don  Ferdinand,  that,  finding  it  absolutely  im- 
possible to  corrupt  her  chastity,  since  she  would  not 
yield  to  his  embraces  as  a  mistress,  he  resolved  to 
marry  her.  I  thought  myself  obliged  by  all  the  ties 
of  gratitude  and  friendship,  to  dissuade  him  from 
so  unsuitable  a  match  ;  and  therefore  I  made  use 
of  such  arguments  as  might  have  diverted  any  one 
but  so  confirmed  a  lover  from  such  an  unequal 
choice.  At  last,  finding  them  all  ineffectual,  I  re- 
solved to  inform  the  duke  his  father  with  his  inten- 


T>ON   QUIXOTE.  275 

tions :  but  Don  Ferdinand  was  too  clear-sighted 
cot  to  read  my  design  in  rny  great  dislike  of  his 
resolutions,  and  dreading  such  a  discovery,  which 
he  knew  my  duty  to  his  father  might  well  warrant, 
in  spite  of  our  intimacy,  since  I  looked  upon  such 
a  marriage  as  highly  prejudicial  to  them  both,  he 
made  it  his  business  to  hinder  me  from  betraying 
his  passion  to  his  father,  assuring  me,  there  would 
be  no  need  to  reveal  it  to  him.  To  blind  me  the 
more  effectually,  he  told  me  he  was  willing  to  try 
the  power  of  absence,  that  common  cure  of  love, 
thereby  to  wear  out  and  lose  his  unhappy  passion  ; 
and  that  in  order  to  this,  he  would  take  a  journey 
with  me  to  my  father's  house,  pretending  to  buy 
horses  in  our  town,  where  the  best  in  the  world  are 
bred.  No  sooner  had  I  heard  this  plausible  propo- 
sal but  I  approved  it,  swayed  by  the  interest  of  my 
own  love,  that  made  me  fond  of  an  opportunity  to 
see  my  absent  Lucinda. 

"  I  have  heard  since,  that  Don  Ferdinand  had 
already  been  blessed  by  his  mistress,  with  all  the 
liberty  of  boundless  love,  upon  a  promise  of  mar- 
riage, and  that  he  only  waited  an  opportunity  to 
discover  it  with  safety,  being  afraid  of  incurring 
his  father's  indignation.  But  as  what  we  call  love 
in  young  men,  is  too  often  only  an  irregular  pas- 
sion, and  boiling  desire,  that  has  no  other  object 
than  sensual  pleasure,  and  vanishes  with  enjoy- 
ment, while  real  love,  fixing  itself  on  the  perfec- 
tions of  the  mind,  is  still  improving  and  perma- 
nent; as  soon  as  Don  Ferdinand  had  accomplished 
his  lawless  desires,  his  strong  affection  slackened, 
and  his  hot  love  grew  cold  :  so  that  if  at  first  his 


276  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

proposing  to  try  the  power  of  absence  was  only  a 
pretence,  that  he  might  get  rid  of  his  passion,  there 
was  nothing  now  which  he  more  heartily  coveted, 
that  he  might  thereby  avoid  fulfilling  his  promise. 
And  therefore  having  obtained  the  duke's  leave, 
away  we  posted  to  my  father's  house,  where  Don 
Ferdinand  was  entertained  according  to  his  qua- 
lity ;  and  I  went  to  visit  my  Lucinda,  who,  by  a 
thousand  innocent  endearments,  made  me  sensible, 
that  her  love,  like  mine,  was  rather  heightened  than 
weakened  by  absence,  if  any  thing  could  heighten 
a  love  so  great  and  so  perfect.  I  then  thought 
myself  obliged  by  the  laws  of  friendship,  not  to 
conceal  the  secrets  of  my  heart  from  so  kind  and 
intimate  a  friend,  who  had  so  generously  intrusted 
me  with  his ;  and  therefore,  to  my  eternal  ruin,  I 
unhappily  discovered  to  him  my  passion.  I  prais.- 
ed  Lucinda's  beauty,  her  wit,  her  virtue,  and  prais- 
ed them  so  like  a  lover,  so  often,  and  so  highly, 
that  I  raised  in  him  a  great  desire  to  see  so  ac- 
complished a  lady ;  and,  to  gratify  his  curiosity,  I 
showed  her  to  him  by  the  help  of  a  light,  one  eve- 
ning, at  a  low  window,  where  we  used  to  have  our 
amorous  interviews.  She  proved  but  too  charming, 
and  too  strong  a  temptation  to  Don  Ferdinand  ; 
and  her  prevailing  image  made  so  deep  an  impres- 
sion on  his  soul,  that  it  was  sufficient  to  blot  out 
of  his  mind  all  those  beauties  that  had  till  then 
employed  his  wanton  thoughts.  He  was  struck 
dumb  with  wonder  and  delight,  at  the  sight  of  the 
ravishing  apparition  ;  and,  in  short,  to  see  her,  and 
to  love  her,  proved  with  him  the  same  thing:  and 
when  I  say  to  love  her,  I  need  not  add,  to  despera- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  277 

tion,  for  there  is  no  loving  her  but  to  an  extreme. 
If  her  face  made  him  so  soon  take  fire,  her  wit 
quickly  set  him  all  in  a  flame.  He  often  impor- 
tuned me  to  communicate  to  him  some  of  her  let- 
ters, which  I  indeed  would  never  expose  to  any  eyes 
but  my  own  ;  but  unhappily  one  day  he  found  one, 
wherein  she  desired  me  to  demand  her  of  her  father, 
and  to  hasten  the  marriage.  It  was  penned  with 
that  tenderness  and  discretion,  that,  when  he  had 
read  it,  he  presently  cried  out,  that  the  amorous 
charms  which  were  scattered  and  divided  among 
other  beauties,  were  all  divinely  centred  in  Lucinda, 
and  in  Lucinda  alone.  Shall  I  confess  a  shameful 
truth  ?  Lucinda's  praises,  though  never  so  deserv- 
ed, did  not  sound  pleasantly  to  my  ears  out  of  Don 
Ferdinand's  mouth.  I  began  to  entertain  I  know 
not  what  distrusts  and  jealous  fears,  the  rather,  be- 
cause he  would  be  still  improving  the  least  oppor- 
tunity of  talking  of  her,  and  insensibly  turning  the 
discourse  he  held  of  other  matters,  to  make  her  the 
subject,  though  never  so  far-fetched,  of  our  constant 
talk.  Not  that  I  was  apprehensive  of  the  least  in- 
fidelity from,  Lucinda:  far  from  it;  she  gave  me 
daily  fresh  assurances  of  her  inviolable  affection  ; 
but  I  feared  every  thing  from  my  malignant  stars, 
and  lovers  are  commonly  industrious  to  make  them- 
selves uneasy. 

"  It  happened,  one  day,  that  Lucinda,  who  took 
great  delight  in  reading  books  of  knight-errantry, 
desired  me  to  lend  her  the  romance  of  Amadis  de 
Gaul " . 

Scarce  had  Cardenio  mentioned  knight-errantry, 
when  Don  Quixote  interrupted  him :  "  Sir,"  said 


278  THE    ACHIEVEMENTS    OF 

he,  "  had  you  but  told  me,  when  you  first  mentioned 
the  Lady  Lucinda,  that  she  was  an  admirer  of 
books  of  knight-errantry,  there  had  been  no  need 
of  using  any  amplification  to  convince  me  of  her 
being  a  person  of  uncommon  sense ;  yet,  sir,  had 
she  not  used  those  mighty  helps,  those  infallible 
guides  to  sense,  though  indulgent  nature  had  strove 
to  bless  her  with  the  richest  gifts  she  can  bestow,  I 
might  justly  enough  have  doubted  whether  her  per- 
fections could  have  gained  her  the  love  of  a  person 
of  your  merit ;  but  now  you  need  not  employ  your 
eloquence  to  set  forth  the  greatness  of  her  beauty, 
the  excellence  of  her  worth,  or  the  depth  of  her 
sense,  for,  from  this  account  which  I  have  of  her 
taking  great  delight  in  reading  books  of  chivalry,  I 
dare  pronounce  her  to  be  the  most  beautiful,  nay, 
the  most  accomplished  lady  in  the  universe;  and  I 
heartily  could  have  wished,  that  with  Amadis  de 
Gaul,  you  had  sent  her  the  worthy  Don  Rugel  of 
Greece ;  for  I  am  certain  the  Lady  Lucinda  would 
have  been  extremely  delighted  with  Daryda  and 
Garaya,  as  also  with  the  discreet  shepherd  Darinel, 
and  those  admirable  verses  of  his  bucolics,  which 
he  sung  and  repeated  with  so  good  a  grace.  But  a 
time  may  yet  be  found  to  give  her  the  satisfaction 
of  reading  those  masterpieces,  if  you  will  do  me 
the  honor  to  corne  to  my  house,  for  there  I  may 
supply  you  with  above  three  hundred  volumes, 
which  are  my  soul's  greatest  delight,  and  the  dar- 
ling comfort  of  my  life ;  though  now  I  remember 
myself,  I  have  just  reason  to  fear  there  is  not  one 
of  them  left  in  my  study,  thanks  to  the  malicious 
envy  of  wicked  enchanters.  I  beg  your  pardon  for 


DON  QUIXOTE.  279 

giving  you  this  interruption,  contrary  to  my  pro- 
mise ;  but  when  I  hear  the  least  mention  made  of 
knight-errantry,  it  is  no  more  in  my  power  to  for- 
bear speaking,  than  it  is  in  the  sunbeams  not  to 
warm,  or  in  those  of  the  moon  not  to  impart  her 
natural  humidity ;  and  therefore,  sir,  I  beseech  you 
to  go  on." 

While  Don  Quixote  was  running  on  with  this  im- 
pertinent digression,  Cardenio  hung  down  his  head 
on  his  breast  with  all  the  signs  of  a  man  lost  in 
sorrow ;  nor  could  Don  Quixote,  with  repeated  en- 
treaties, persuade  him  to  look  up,  or  answer  a  word. 
At  last,  after  he  had  stood  thus  a  considerable  while, 
he  raised  his  head,  and,  suddenly  breaking  silence, 
"  I  am  positively  convinced,"  cried  he,  "  nor  shall 
any  man  in  the  world  ever  persuade  me  to  the  con- 
trary ;  and  he's  a  blockhead  who  says,  that  great 
villain,  Master  Elisabat,*  never  lay  with  Queen  Ma- 
dasima." 

"  It  is  false ! "  cried  Don  Quixote,  in  a  mighty 
heat ;  "  by  all  the  powers  above,  it  is  all  scandal 
and  base  detraction  to  say  this  of  Queen  Madasi- 
ma !  She  was  a  most  noble  and  virtuous  lady  ;  nor 
is  it  to  be  presumed  that  so  great  a  princess  would 
ever  debase  herself  so  far  #s  to  fall  in  love  with  a 
quack.  Whoever  dares  to  say  she  did,  lies  like  an 
arrant  villain  ;  and  I'll  make  him  acknowledge  it 
either  a-foot  or  a-horseback,  armed,  or  unarmed,  by 
night  or  by  day,  or  how  he  pleases." 

*  Elisabat  is  a  skilful  surgeon  in  Amadis  de  Gaul,  who  per- 
forms wonderful  cures ;  and  Queen  Madasima  is  wife  to  Ganta- 
sis,  and  makes  a  great  figure  in  the  aforesaid  romance  ;  they  tra- 
vel and  lie  together  in  woods  and  deserts,  without  any  imputation 
on  her  honor. 


280  THE   ACHIEVEMENTS   OP 

Cardenio  very  earnestly  fixed  his  eyes  on  Don 
Quixote,  while  he  was  thus  defying  him,  and  taking 
Queen  Madasima's  part,  as  if  she  had  been  his  true 
and  lawful  princess  ;  and  being  provoked  by  these 
abuses  into  one  of  his  mad  fits,  he  took  up  a  great 
stone  that  lay  by  him,  and  hit  Don  Quixote  such  a 
blow  on  his  breast  with  it,  that  it  beat  him  down 
backwards.  Sancho,  seeing  his  lord  and  master  so 
roughly  handled,  fell  upon  the  mad  knight  with  his 
clenched  fists  ;  but  he  beat  him  off  at  the  first  onset, 
and  laid  him  at  his  feet  with  a  single  blow,  and 
then  fell  a  trampling  on  his  guts,  like  a  baker  in  a 
dough-trough.  Nay,  the  goat-herd,  who  was  offer- 
ing to  take  Sancho's  part,  had  like  to  have  been 
served  in  the  same  manner.  So  the  Ragged  Knight, 
having  tumbled  them  one  over  another,  and  beaten 
them  handsomely,  left  them,  and  ran  into  the  wood 
without  the  least  opposition. 

Sancho  got  up  when  he  saw  him  gone;  and 
being  very  much  out  of  humor  to  find  himself  so 
roughly  handled  without  any  manner  of  reason, 
began  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  the  goat-herd,  railing 
at  him  for  not  forewarning  them  of  the  Ragged 
Knight's  mad  fits,  that  they  might  have  stood  upon 
their  guard.  The  goat-herd  answered,  he  had  given 
them  warning  at  first,  and  if  he  could  not  hear,  it 
was  no  fault  of  his.  To  this  Sancho  replied,  and 
the  goat-herd  made  a  rejoinder,  till  from  Pros  and 
Cons  they  fell  to  a  warmer  way  of  disputing,  and 
went  to  fisticuffs  together,  catching  one  another 
by  the  beards,  and  tugging,  hauling,  and  belaboring 
one  another  so  unmercifully,  that,  had  not  Don 
Quixote  parted  them,  they  would  have  pulled  one 


DON   QUIXOTE.  281 

another's  chins  off.  Sancho,  in  great  warmth,  still 
keeping  his  hold,  cried  to  his  master,  "  Let  me  alone, 
Sir  Knight  of  the  Woful  Figure :  this  is  no  dubbed 
knight,  but  an  ordinary  fellow  like  myself;  I  may 
be  revenged  on  him  for  the  wrong  he  has  done  me ; 
let  me  box  it  out,  and  fight  him  fairly  hand  to  fist 
like  a  man."  "  Thou  mayest  fight  him  as  he  is  thy 
equal,"  answered  Don  Quixote;  "but  thou  oughtest 
not  to  do  it,  since  he  has  done  us  no  wrong."  After 
this  he  pacified  them,  and  then  addressing  himself 
to  the  goat-herd,  he  asked  him  whether  it  was  pos- 
sible to  find  out  Cardenio  again,  that  he  might  hear 
the  end  of  his  story  ?  The  goat-herd  answered, 
that,  as  he  had  already  told  him,  he  knew  of  no 
settled  place  he  used,  but  that  if  they  made  any 
stay  thereabouts,  he  might  be  sure  to  meet  with 
him,  mad  or  sober,  some  time  or  other. 


NOTES 


ON 


DON   QUIXOTE 


NOTE  I.  p.  13. 

At  a  certain  village  in  La  Mancha,  of  which  I  cannot  remember 
the  name.  —  It  is  clear  that  the  author  meant  to  assign  no  special 
locality  to  the  Aldea,  or  village  of  the  renowned  Hidalgo.  But 
in  this,  as  in  other  cases,  commentators  became  desirous  of  see- 
ing farther  into  the  mill-stone,  and  have  assigned  to  Argasamilla 
de  Alba  the  honor  of  being  Don  Quixote's  habitation.  Avellen- 
ada  first  named  it  as  such,  in  his  Continuation  of  Don  Quixote. 

NOTE  II.  p.  13. 

A  lance  upon  a  rack.  —  In  Spain,  as  in  the  other  parts  of  Eu- 
rope, the  country  gentlemen,  when  called  on  to  discharge  military 
duty,  used  the  lance,  which  was  usually  deposited  upon  a  rack, 
in  the  hall  or  porch  of  their  habitations. 

NOTE  in.  p.  13. 

Griefs  and  groans.  —  Duelos  y  quebrantos.  —  This  dish  has 
puzzled  the  critics,  having  been  termed  by  Stevens,  eggs  and 
collops ,  by  Audin,  eggs  and  beer ;  by  Jervis,  an  omelet ;  by 
others,  fried  hams ;  by  others,  pease,  herbs,  or  such  other  windy 
diet,  as  was  like  to  engender  cholic  ;  while  Ozell  hints,  it  means 
a  dish  of  nothing  at  all.  Pelicer  explains  the  dish  to  be  com- 
posed of  sausages,  made  of  sheep  which  had  died  of  disease,  or 


284  NOTES   ON 

otherwise,  without  the  butcher's  assistance  —  taking  its  name, 
therefore,  from  the  sentiment  which  the  loss  excited  in  the  fanner 
or  owner. 

NOTE  IV.  p.  14. 

Fdicia.no  de  Sylva.  —  This  learned  and  eloquent  Castilian 
composed  (or,  according  to  the  title  page,  amended  and  edited 
from  the  ancient  version  of  Zerfea,  Queen  of  the  Argines)  the 
history  of  the  two  valiant  knights,  Don  Florisel  de  Niquea,  and 
the  brave  Anaxartes,  printed  at  Saragossa  in  1584.  The  author 
was  the  son  of  Tristan  de  Sylva,  the  historian  of  Charles  V. 

NOTE  V.  p.  15. 

Don  Belianis  of  Greece.  —  A  romance  of  chivalry,  formed  on 
the  model  of  the  Amadis,  but  with  infinitely  less  art  and  inte- 
rest, and  on  a  much  coarser  plan.  It  seems  to  have  had  a  great 
share  of  popularity,  however,  in  its  day  ;  and  made  its  appear- 
ance in  all  the  languages  in  which  romances  were  written. 
There  is,  among  others,  an  English  abridgment,  (in  quarto,)  enti- 
tled "  The  Honour  of  Chivalry,  or  the  Famous  and  Delectable 
History  of  Don  Belianis  of  Greece,  containing  the  valiant  Exploits 
of  that  magnanimous  and  heroic  Prince,  son  unto  the  Emperor 
Don  Belianis  of  Greece,  wherein  are  described  the  strange  and 
dangerous  adventures  that  befell  him,  with  his  love  towards  the 
Princess  Florisbella,  daughter  to  the  Suldan  of  Babyloun,  &c.  &c. 
London,  at  the  three  Bibles,  in  London  Bridge,  1683." 

The  allusion  in  the  text  is  to  these  words,  at  the  end  of  the 
original  Don  Belianis,  "  Suplir  yo  con  fingimientos  historia  tan 
estimada  seria  aggravio,  &c.  &c. 

NOTE  VI.  p.  15. 

Had  taken  his  degrees  at  Siguenza.  —  A  Spanish  university  of 
minor  note. 

NOTE  VH.  p.  15. 

Palmerin  of  England,  or  Amadis  de  Gaul.  —  These  knights 
have  been  made  so  well  known  to  the  British  public,  by  the  ex- 


BON  QUIXOTE.  2  J3 

cellent  abridgments,  which  Mr.  Southey  has  made  of  their  ad- 
ventures, that  it  is  only  necessary  to  refer  to  books  in  the  hands 
of  every  lover  of  ancient  literature.  It  is  no  small  debt  we  owe 
to  the  author  of  Thalaba,  Kehama,  and  Don  Roderick,  that  he 
could  stoop  from  his  own  lofty  sphere  of  original  composition,  to 
the  task  of  presenting  to  us,  in  an  intelligible  and  pleasing  form, 
whatever  was  characteristic  and  interesting  in  the  ancient  ro- 
mance. 

NOTE  VIH.  p.  16. 

The  Cid  Ruydiaz.  —  A  romantic  champion,  well  known  by 
Corneille's  tragedy  of  the  Cid,  as  well  as  by  Southey's  curious 
version  of  the  Chronicle  of  his  exploits.  He  was,  like  most  po- 
pular heroes,  an  ill  requited  chief,  banished  from  Castile  by  his 
sovereign,  and  reduced  to  live  the  life  of  an  outlaw,  and  support 
himself  and  his  followers  by  warring  upon  the  Moors  on  his  own 
account  The  real  history  of  this  remarkable  personage  is  lost 
in  a  cloud  of  romantic  fiction.  He  is  said  to  have  conquered 
Valentia  from  the  Moors. 

A  distinguished  German  critic  speaks  thus  of  the  old  Spanish 
poem  on  the  exploits  of  the  Cid  —  a  production  of  which  some 
curious  specimens  are  admirably  translated  by  Mr.  Frere,  at  the 
end  of  Mr.  Southey's  Chronicle. 

"  The  literature  of  Spain  possesses  a  high  advantage  over  that 
of  most  other  nations,  in  its  historical  heroic  romance  of  the  Cid. 
This  is  exactly  that  species  of  poetry  which  exerts  the  nearest 
and  most  powerful  influence  over  the  national  feelings  and  cha- 
racter of  a  people.  A  single  work,  such  as  the  Cid,  is  of  more 
real  value  to  a  nation  than  a  whole  library  of  books,  however 
abounding  in  wit  or  intellect,  which  are  destitute  of  the  spirit  of 
nationality.  Although  in  the  shape  in  which  it  now  appears,  the 
work  was  probably  produced  about  the  llth  century,  yet  the 
whole  body  of  its  inventions  belongs  to  the  older  period  antece- 
dent to  the  Crusades.  There  is  here  no  trace  of  that  oriental 
taste  for  the  wonderful  and  the  fabulous,  which  afterwards  be- 
came so  predominant.  It  breathes  the  pure,  true-hearted,  noble 
old  Castilian  spirit,  and  is  in  fact  the  true  history  of  the  Cid, 
first  arranged  and  extended  into  a  poetical  form,  very  shortly,  it 
is  probable,  after  the  age  of  that  hero  himself.  I  have  already 


285  NOTES    ON 

taken  notice  that  the  heroic  poetry  and  mythology  of  almost  all 
nations  is  in  its  essence  tragical  and  elegiac.  But  there  is  an- 
other less  serious  view  of  the  heroic  life,  which  was  often  repre- 
sented even  by  the  ancients  themselves.  Hercules  and  his  bodily 
strength,  and  his  eating,  are  drawn  in  the  true  colors  of  comedy, 
and  the  wandering  adventures  and  lying  stories  of  Ulysses,  have 
been  the  original  of  all  amusing  romances.  But,  in  truth,  speci- 
mens of  this  sort  of  representation  are  to  be  found  in  the  histo- 
ries of  almost  all  great  heroes.  However  powerfully  history 
may  represent  the  hero's  superiority  in  magnanimity,  in  bravery, 
and  in  corporeal  strength,  it  effects  its  purpose  by  depicting  him 
not  among  the  poetical  obscurities  of  a  world  of  wonders,  but 
surrounded  by  the  realities  of  life ;  and  it  is  then  that  we  receive 
the  strongest  impression  of  his  power,  whe'n  we  see  it  exerted  in 
opposition,  not  to  imaginary  evils  of  which  we  have  little  concep- 
tion, but  to  the  every  day  difficulties  and  troubles  of  the  world,  to 
which  we  ourselves  feel  that  ordinary  men  are  incapable  of  of- 
fering any  resistance.  We  have  many  instances  of  this  comic 
sort  of  writing  in  the  Spanish  Cid ;  for  example,  there  is  the 
description  of  his  rather  unfair  method  of  raising  money  to 
support  his  war  against  the  Moors,  by  borrowing  from  a 
Jewish  usurer,  and  leaving  a  chest  of  old  stones  and  lumber  as 
his  pledge;  and  the  account  of  the  insult  offered  to  his  dead 
body  by  another  of  that  race,  and  the  terror  into  which  he  was 
thrown  by  the  Cid  starting  up  on  his  bier,  and  drawing  his  sword 
a  span's  length  out  of  the  scabbard.  These  are  touches"  of  popu- 
lar humor  by  no  means  out  of  place  in  a  romance  founded  on 
popular  traditions.  But  there  is  a  spirit  of  more  delicate  irony 
in  those  sorrowful  lamentations  with  which  Donna  Ximena  is 
made  to  address  the  King  on  account  of  the  protracted  absence 
of  her  husband,  as  well  as  in  the  reply  of  the  monarch." —  See 
Kchlegel  on  the  History  of  Literature,  vol.  i.  p.  343. 


NOTE  IX.  p.  16. 

Bernardo  del  Carpio.  —  Of  this  personage,  we  find  little  or 
nothing  in  the  French  romances  of  Charlemagne.  He  belongs 
exclusively  to  Spanish  History,  or  rather  to  Spanish  Romance ; 
in  which  the  honor  is  claimed  for  him  of  slaying  the  famous  Or- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  287 

lando,  or  Roland,  the  nephew  of  Charlemagne,  in  the  fatal  field 
of  Roncesvalles.  His  history  is  as  follows :  — 

The  continence  which  procured  for  Alonzo,  who  succeeded  to 
the  precarious  throne  of  the  Christians,  in  the  Asturias,  about 
795,  the  epithet  of  The  Chaste,  was  not  universal  in  his  family. 
By  an  intrigue  with  Sancho,  Count  of  Saldenha,  Donna  Xime- 
na,  sister  of  this  virtuous  prince,  bore  a  son.  Some  historians 
attempt  to  gloss  over  this  incident  by  alleging  that  a  private 
marriage  had  taken  place  betwixt  the  lovers ;  but  King  Alphon- 
so,  who  was  wellnigh  sainted  for  living  only  in  platonic  union 
with  his  own  wife  Bertha,  took  the  scandal  greatly  to  heart.  He 
shut  the  peccant  princess  up  in  a  cloister,  and  imprisoned  her 
gallant  in  the  castle  of  Luna,  where  he  caused  him  to  be  de- 
prived of  sight.  Fortunately,  his  wrath  did  not  extend  to  the 
offspring  of  their  stolen  affections,  the  famous  Bernardo  del  Car- 
pio.  When  the  youth  had  grown  up  to  manhood,  Alphonso,  ac- 
cording to  the  Spanish  historians,  invited  the  Emperor  Charle- 
magne into  Spain,  and  having  neglected  to  raise  up  heirs  for  the 
kingdom  of  the  Goths  in  the  ordinary  manner,  he  proposed  the 
inheritance  of  his  throne  as  the  price  of  the  alliance  of  Charles. 
But  the  nobility,  headed  by  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  remonstrated 
against  the  king's  choice  of  a  successor,  and  would  on  no  ac- 
count consent  to  receive  a  Frenchman  as  heir  of  their  crown. 
Alphonso  himself  repented  of  the  invitation  he  had  given  to 
Charlemagne,  and  when  that  champion  of  Christendom  came  to 
expel  the  Moors  from  Spain,  he  found  the  conscientious  and 
chaste  Alphonso  had  united  with  the  infidels  against  him.  An 
engagement  took  place  in  the  renowned  pass  of  Roncesvalles,  in 
which  the  French  were  defeated,  and  the  celebrated  Roland,  or 
Orlando,  was  slain.  The  victory  was  ascribed  chiefly  to  the 
prowess  of  Bernardo  del  Carpio. 

In  several  of  the  old  ballads,  which  record  the  real  or  imagin- 
ary feats  of  Bernardo,  his  royal  uncle  is  represented  as  having 
shown  but  little  gratitude  for  the  great  champion's  services,  in 
the  campaign  against  Charlemagne.  It  appears  that  the  king 
had  not.  relented  in  favor  of  Don  Sancho,  although  he  had  come 
under  some  promise  of  that  sort  to  his  son,  at  the  period  when 
his  (the  son's)  services  were  most  necessary.  The  following  is  a 
translation  of  one  of  the  oldest  of  the  Spanish  ballads  in  which 
this  part  of  Carpio's  story  is  told. 


288  NOTES  ON 


BERNARDO  AND  ALPHONSO. 

I. 

With  some  good  ten  of  his  chosen  men,  Bernardo  hath  appear'd 
Before  them  all  in  the  palace  hall,  the  lying  King  to  beard; 
With  cap  in  hand  and  eye  on  ground,  he  came  in  reverend  guise, 
But  ever  and  anon  he  frown'd,  and  flame  broke  from  his  eyes. 

n. 

"A  curse  upon  thee,"  cries  the  King,  "  who  comest  unbid  to  me; 
But  what  from  traitor's  blood  should  spring,  save  traitors  like  to  thee? 
His  sire,  Lords,  had  a  traitor's  heart;  perchance  our  Champion  brave 
May  think  it  were  a  pious  part  to  share  Don  Sancho's  grave." 

III. 

"  Whoever  told  this  tale  the  King,  hath  rashness  to  repeat," 
Cries  Bernard,  "  here  my  gage  I  fling  before  THE  LIAR'S  feet ! 
No  treason  was  in  Sancho's  blood,  no  stain  in  mine  doth  lie  — 
Below  the  throne  what  knight  will  own  the  coward  calumny? 

IV. 

"  The  blood  that  I  like  water  shed,  when  Roland  did  advance, 
By  secret  traitors  bought  and  led,  to  make  us  slaves  of  France; 
The  life  of  King  Alphonso  I  saved  at  Ronseval, — 
Your  words,  Lord  King,  are  recompense  abundant  for  it  all. 

V. 

"  Your  horse  was  down  — your  hope  was  flown  —  ye  saw  the  faulchion 

shine, 

That  soon  had  drunk  your  royal  blood,  had  I  not  ventured  mine ; 
But  memory  soon  of  service  done  deserteth  the  ingrate, 
And  ye've  thank'd  the  son  for  life  and  crown  by  the  father's  bloody  fate. 

VI. 

"  Ye  swore  upon  your  kingly  faith,  to  set  Don  Sancho  free, 
But  curse  upon  your  paultring  breath,  the  light  he  ne'er  did  see; 
He  died  in  dungeon  cold  and  dim,  by  Alphonso's  base  decree. 
And  visage  blind,  and  mangled  limb,  were  all  they  gave  to  me. 

VII. 

"  The  King  that  swerveth  from  his  word,  hath  stain'd  his  purple  black, 
No  Spanish  Lord  will  draw  the  sword  behind  a  liar's  back; 
But  noble  vengeance  shall  be  mine,  and  open  hate  I'll  show — 
Ths  King  hath  injured  Carpio's  line,  and  Bernard  is  his  foe." 


DON   QUIXOTE.  289 

vra. 

"  Seize  —  seize  him !  " — loud  the  King  doth  scream  —  "  There  are  * 

thousand  here  — 

Let  his  foul  blood  this  instant  stream, — What!  Caitiffs,  do  ye  fear? 
Seize  —  seize  the  traitor!  "     But  not  one  to  move  a  finger  dareth, — 
Bernardo  standeth  by  the  throne,  and  calm  his  sword  he  bareth. 

IX. 

He  drew  the  faulchion  from  the  sheath,  and  held  it  up  on  high, 
And  all  the  hall  was  still  as  death  —  cries  Bernard,  "Here  am  I, 
And  here  is  the  sword  that  owns  no  lord,  excepting  heaven  and  me; 
Fain  would  I  know  who  dares  his  point  —  King,  Conde,  or  Grandee." 

X. 

Then  to  his  mouth  the  horn  he  drew  —  (it  hung  below  his  cloak) 
His  ten  true  men  the  signal  knew,  and  through  the  ring  they  broke ; 
With  helm  on  head,  and  blade  in  hand,  the  knights  the  circle  brake, 
And  back  the  lordlings  'gan  to  stand,  and  the  false  King  to  quake. 

XI. 

"  Ha!  Bernard,"  quoth  Alphonso,  "  what  means  this  warlike  guise? 
Ye  know  full  well  I  jested  —  ye  know  your  worth  I  prize." 
But  Bernard  turn'd  upon  his  heel,  and  smiling  pass'd  away  — 
Long  rued  Alphonso  and  Castile  the  jesting  of  that  day. 

I  shall  venture  on  inserting  a  translation  of  part  of  another 
of  the  many  ballads  founded  on  the  story  of  this  champion.  It 
describes  the  enthusiasm  excited  among  the  Leonese,  when  Ber- 
nard first  reared  his  standard,  to  oppose  the  progress  of  Charle- 
magne. This  ballad  was,  as  might  have  been  expected}  extremely 
popular  in  Spain  during  the  late  war.  It  was  sung  frequently 
by  the  Guerillas,  while  on  their  march. 

BERNARDO'S  MARCH. 
I. 

With  three  thousand  men  of  Leon,  from  the  city  Bernard  goes, 
To  protect  the  soil  Hispanian  from  the  spear  of  Prankish  foes : 
From  the  city  which  is  planted  in  the  midst  between  the  seas, 
To  preserve  the  name  and  glory  of  old  Pelayo's  victories. 

H. 

The  peasant  hears  upon  his  field  the  trumpet  of  the  knight, 
He  quits  his  team  for  spear  and  shield,  and  garniture  of  might; 
VOL.    I.  19 


290  NOTES    ON 

The  shepherd  hears  it  mid  the  mist  — he  flingeth  down  his  crook, 
And  nishes  from  the  mountain  like  a  tempest-troubled  brook. 

III. 
The  youth  who  shews  a  maiden's  chin,  whose  brows  have  ne'er  been 

bound 

The  helmet's  brazen  ring  within,  gains  manhood  from  the  sound ; 
The  hoary  sire  beside  the  fire  forgets  his  feebleness, 
Once  more  to  feel  the  cap  of  steel  a  warrior's  ringlets  press. 

IV. 

As  through  the  glen  his  spears  did  gleam,  these  soldiers  from  the  hills, 
They  swell'd  his  host,  as  mountain-stream  receives  the  roaring  rills ; 
They  round  his  banner  flock'd,  in  scorn  of  haughty  Charlemagne, 
And  thus  upon  their  swords  are  sworn  the  faithful  sons  of  Spain. 

V. 

"  Free  were  we  born,"  'tis  thus  they  cry,  "  though  to  our  King  we  owe 
The  homage  and  the  fealty  behind  his  crest  to  go ; 
By  God's  behest  our  aid  he  shares,  but  God  did  ne'er  command, 
That  we  should  leave  our  children  heirs  of  an  enslaved  land. 

VI. 

"  Our  breasts  are  not  so  timorous,  nor  are  our  arms  so  weak, 
Nor  are  our  veins  so  bloodless,  that  we  our  vow  should  break, 
To  sell  our  freedom  for  the  fear  of  Prince  or  Paladin,  — 
At  least  we'll  sell  our  birthright  dear,  no  bloodless  prize  they'll  win. 

vn. 

"  At  least  Kuig  Charles,  if  God  decrees  he  must  be  lord  of  Spain, 
Shall  witness  that  the  Leonese  were  not  aroused  in  vain ; 
He  shall  bear  witness  that  we  died,  as  lived  our  sires  of  old, 
Nor  only  of  Numantium's  pride  shall  minstrel  tales  be  told. 

vm. 

"  The  LION  *  that  hath  bathed  his  paws  in  seas  of  Lybian  gore, 
Shall  he  not  battle  for  the  laws  and  liberties  of  yore  ? 
Anointed  cravens  may  give  gold  to  whom  it  likes  them  well, 
But  steadfast  heart  and  spirit  bold  Alphonso  ne'er  shall  sell." 

NOTE  X.  p.  16. 

The  giant  Morganle.  — This  giant  was  for  some  time  Esquire 
to  Orlando. 

*  The  arms  of  Leon. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  291 

Dimmi  a  Carlo  diceva  ancora  Orlando 
lo  pel  mondo  vo  peregrinando 
E  di  ch'i'ho  con  meco  un  gigante 
Ch'e  battezzato,  appellate  Morgante. 

PULCI,  M.  M.  C.  C.  48-9. 

NOTE  XI.  p.  17. 

Rinaldo  of  Montalban.  —  The  name  of  this  redoubted  knight, 
son  of  the  Great  Duke  Aymon,  is  familiar  to  all  readers  of 
romance,  as  being  one  of  the  most  renowned  Paladins,  as  they 
were  called,  who  were  alleged  to  compose  the  cycle  of  heroes 
around  the  throne  of  Charlemagne.  He  was  bold,  stout,  and 
gallant;  but  although  one  of  the  most  redoubted  champions  of 
Christendom,  he  was  as  frequently  at  war  as  in  league  with  his 
liege  lord  Charlemagne.  When  he  was  in  disgrace  with  the 
emperor,  he  was  wont  to  retreat  to  his  strong  fortress  of  Montal- 
ban, where,  with  his  three  brothers,  he  maintained  himself  by 
pillage.  Orlando  and  he  were  cousins-german,  but  often  fought 
together,  divided  either  by  Rinaldo's  quarrels  with  the  Emperor 
Charles,  to  whom  his  nephew  Orlando  was  dutifully  attached,  or, 
as  represented  in  Ariosto,  by  their  rivalry  for  the  love  of  the 
fair  Angelica.  In  the  Espejo  de  Cavallerias,  these  two  famous 
cavaliers  are  introduced  as  holding  the  following  somewhat  rough 
colloquy:  The  names  by  which  they  address  each  other,  are 
pretty  much  in  the  same  taste  with  those  which  Homer  puts  into 
the  mouths  of  Agamemnon  and  Achilles,  at  the  opening  of  the 
Iliad. 

"  El  conde  Roldan  dixo,  sus  falso  cavaliero,  fyc.  No  le  res- 
ponde  el  buen  Renaldo  corleses  palabras,  antes  con  bravo  sem- 
blante  le  dixo.  O  Bastardo,  hijo  de  mala  Hembra  mientes  en 
todo  lo  que  has  dicho,  que  robar  a  los  paganos  de  Espana  no  es 
robo,  pues  yo  solo,  a  pesar  de  quarenta  mil  Moros,  y  mas,  lea 
quite  un  Mahomet  de  oro  que  ove  menesler  para  pagar  mis  Solda- 
dos.  —  T?.  1.  C.  46. 

NOTE  XH.  p.  17. 

Idol  of  Mahomet.  —  "  Est  Lapis  antiquus  altissimus  super  quern 
elevatur  Imago  ilia  de  auro  optima  in  Effigiem  hominis  fusa,  su- 
per pedes  suos." — TURPIXCS,  L.  1.  C.  28. 


292  NOTES   ON 

NOTE  XHI.  p.  17. 

That  traitor  Galalon. —  Galalon  or  Ganalon,  of  Mayence,  was 
one  of  the  best  soldiers  Charlemagne  had,  but  he  afterwards 
became  a  practised  traitor,  and  being  at  length  convicted  of  be- 
traying Orlando  to  his  fate  at  Roncesvalles,  was  condemned  to 
be  torn  in  pieces  by  "  four  most  fierce  horses." — TURPIN,  Book 
1.  C.  26.  There  is  a  ballad  in  the  Silva  de  Ronces,  upon  an- 
other base  trick  which  this  Galalon  played  off  against  llinaldo 
de  Montalban. 

No  passaron  muchos  dias, 
Quel  traydor  de  Galalon 
Aquel  traydor  desleal 
Embio  Cartas  a  Aliarde : 

Cartas  para  le  avisar 
Que  en  su  corte  tenia 
A  Renaldos  de  Montalban,  &c. 

SYLVA,  F.  66. 

Pulci  frequently  mentions  him :  as  for  example, 

Aldingbler  grido:  s'io  ben  ti  squadro 
Non  se  tu  Ganelon,  traditor  Ladro ; 
Traditor  doloroso,  can  ribaldo, 
Traditor  nato  per  tradir  Rinaldo. 

M.  M.  C.  22.  127. 

NOTE  XIV.  p.  18. 

A  worse  jade  than  Gonila's. —  Gonnella  was  an  Italian  buffoon 
of  great  celebrity.  Several  of  his  jokes  are  recorded  in  Poggio's 
Facetice;  but  they  were  thought  worthy  of  occupying  a  sepa- 
rate volume  ;  viz.  the  "  Buffbnerie  di  Gonnella ; "  published  at 
Florence  in  the  year  1568.  He  was  domestic  jester  to  a  noble- 
man of  Ferrara,  the  Marchese  Borso ;  and  boasted  one  day,  in 
his  master's  presence,  of  a  miserable  horse  he  commonly  rode 
upon.  The  Marquis  inspected  the  animal,  and  quoted  the  line 
from  Plautus,  which  is  here  requoted  by  Cervantes  :  Ossa  atque 
pellis  totus  est,  fyc.  (Aulularia,  Act  3.  Sc.  6.)  The  jester,  no- 
thing dismayed,  wagered  his  steed  would  take  a  leap  which  no 
horse  in  the  Marquis's  own  stud  would  venture  upon ;  viz.  from 
a  certain  balcony  many  feet  high,  to  the  pavement;  and  he  won 
his  wager. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  293 

NOTE  XV.  p.  18. 

Alexander's  Bucephalus,  and  the  Old's  Bavleca.  —  Montaigne, 
in  his  curious  Essay,  entitled  "  Des  Destriers,"  says  that  all  the 
•world  knows  every  thing  about  Bucephalus.  The  name  of  the 
favorite  charger  of  the  Cid  Ruy  Diaz,  is  scarcely  less  celebrated. 
Notice  is  taken  of  him  in  almost  every  one  of  the  hundred  bal- 
lads concerning  the  history  of  his  master,  —  and  there  are  one 
or  two  of  these,  of  which  the  horse  is  more  truly  the  hero  than 
his  rider.  The  following  contains  some  very  characteristic  traits. 
" El  Rey  aguardava  al  Cid"  ffc. —  (Deppings  Sammlung  Spa- 
nischer  romanzen,  p.  182.) 

BAVIECA. 

I. 

The  king  look'd  on  him  kindly,  as  on  a  vassal  true ; 
Then  to  the  king  Ruy  Diaz  spake  after  reverence  due, 
"  0  king,  the  thing  is  shameful,  that  any  man  beside 
The  liege  lord  of  Castile  himself  should  Bavieca  ride : 

II. 

"  For  neither  Spain  nor  Araby  could  another  charger  bring 

So  good  as  he,  and,  certes,  the  best  befits  my  king. 

But  that  you  may  behold  him,  and  know  him  to  the  core, 

I'll  make  him  go  as  he  was  wont  when  his  nostrils  smelt  the  Moor." 

in. 

With  that,  the  Cid,  clad  as  he  was  in  mantle  furr'd  and  wide, 
On  Bavieca  vaulting,  put  the  rowels  in  his  side ; 
And  up  and  down,  and  round  and  round,  so  fierce  was  his  career, 
Stream'd  like  a  pennon  on  the  wind  Ruy  Diaz'  minivere. 

IV. 

And  all  that  saw  them  praised  them  —  they  lauded  man  and  horse, 
As  matched  well,  and  rivalless  for  gallantry  and  force ; 
Ne'er  had  they  look'd  on  horseman  might  to  this  knight  come  near, 
Nor  on  other  charger  worthy  of  such  a  cavalier. 

V. 

Thus,  to  and  fro  a-rushing,  the  fierce  and  furious  steed, 
He  snapt  in  twain  his  hither  rein:  —  "  God  pity  now  the  Cid," 
"  God  pity  Diaz,"  cried  the  Lords,  —  but  when  they  look'd  again, 
They  saw  Ruy  Diaz  ruling  him  with  the  fragment  of  his  rein; 


294  NOTES    ON 

They  saw  him  proudly  ruling  with  gesture  firm  and  calm, 
Like  a  true  Lord  commanding,  —  and  obeyed  as  by  a  lamb. 

VI. 

And  so  he  led  him  foaming  and  panting  to  the  king, 

But  "  No,"  said  Don  Alphonso,  "  it  were  a  shameful  thing 

That  peerless  Bavieca  should  ever  be  bestrid 

By  any  mortal  but  Bivar  —  mount,  mount  again,  my  Cid,"  &c. 

In  one  of  these  ballads,  the  Cid  is  giving  directions  about  his 
funeral ;  he  desires  that  they  shall  place  his  body  "  in  full  armor 
upon  Bavieca,"  and  so  conduct  him  to  the  church  of  San  Pedro 
de  Cardena.  This  was  done  accordingly ;  and  says  another  bal- 
lad— 

Truxeron  pues  a  Babieca  ; 
Y  en  mirandole  se  puso 
Tan  triste  como  si  fuera 
Mas  rasonable  que  bruto. 

In  the  Cid's  last  will,  mention  is  also  made  of  this  noble 
charger.  "  When  ye  bury  Bavieca,  dig  deep,"  says  Ruy  Diaz, 
"  for  shameful  thing  were  it,  that  he  should  be  eat  by  curs,  who 
hath  trampled  down  so  much  currish  flesh  of  Moors." 

NOTE  XVI.  p.  20. 
A  knight-errant  without  a  Mistress. 

Hora  ti  prego 

Se  mai  fosti  anchora  inamorato 
Perche  ogni  cavalier  ch'e  senza  amort 
Sen  vista  e  vivo  e  vivo  senza  cuore. 
Eispose  il  conte  "  quel'  Orlando  sono, 
"Amor  m'ha  posto  tutto  in  abandono ; 
"  Voglio  che  sappi  che'l  mio  oor  e  in  mano 
"  De  la  figliola  del  Ee  Galafrone 
"  Che  ad  Albracca  dimore  nel  girone." 

BOIAKDO,  L.  1. 18.  467. 

NOTE  XVH.  p.  20. 

Lady,  I  am  the  giant  Caraculiambro,  $"c.  —  Speeches  of  this 
kind  occur  passim  in  the  Romances ;  e.  g.  in  Perceforest,  chap- 
ter 46,  the  title  of  which  runs  thus :  "  Comment  le  roy  Perce- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  295 

forest  envoya  deux  chevaliers  prisonniers  devers  la  Royne 
d'Angleterre  sa  femme.  A  la  qual  un  de  ceux  dit,  II  me  con- 
quit  par  force  d'armes  et  me  fit  jurer  que  je  viendroye  en  vostre 
prison  de  par  luy  que  est  mon  Seigneur."  And  again  in  the 
text,  "  Quant  il  eut  ce  dit  prent  son  espee  per  la  poynte  et  sagi- 
nouille  devant  la  Royne  et  disk  Dame  je  me  presente  de  mon 
cher  seigneur  le  Roy  d'Angleterre  vostre  prisonnier,  ainsi  que  le 
vouldrez  ordonner  soit  de  mort  on  de  vie,"  &c.  Perhaps  the 
name  Caraculiambro,  may  be  in  allusion  to  that  of  Calaucolocon, 
one  of  the  many  huge  men  who  figure  in  the  Merlin. 

NOTE  XYIH.  p.  23. 

The  ancient  and  celebrated  plain  of  Montiel.  —  The  celebrity 
of  the  plain  of  Montiel  arose  from  its  having  been  the  scene  of 
one  of  the  darkest  tragedies  in  the  early  history  of  Spain. 

The  death  of  Don  Pedro,  called  the  Cruel,  by  the  hands  of 
his  brother,  Henry  of  Transtamara,  is  an  incident  more  than 
once  alluded  to  by  Cervantes.  The  English  reader  will  proba- 
bly remember,  that  Don  Pedro,  King  of  Castile,  deposed  by  hia 
subjects  on  account  of  his  excessive  cruelty,  was  replaced  on  the 
throne  by  the  assistance  of  our  Black  Prince,  who,  in  1366,  at 
the  battle  of  Nejara,  defeated  Henry  of  Transtamara,  the  natu- 
ral brother  of  Pedro,  who  had  been  called  to  the  throne  by  the 
insurgents.  In  1368,  when  this  formidable  ally  of  Don  Pedro 
had  retired  into  Gascony,  Henry,  in  his  turn,  came  back  from 
exile  at  the  head  of  a  small  but  gallant  army,  most  of  whom 
were  French  auxiliaries,  commanded'  by  the  celebrated  Bertram 
Du  Gleaquin,  or,  as  he  is  more  commonly  called,  Du  Guesclin. 
He  encountered  Don  Pedro,  at  the  head  of  an  army  six  times 
more  numerous  than  that  which  he  commanded,  but  which  con- 
sisted partly  of  Jews,  Saracens,  and  Portuguese,  miscellaneous 
auxiliaries,  who  gave  way  before  the  ardor  of  the  French  chi- 
valry, so  that  Henry  remained  victorious,  and  Pedro  was  com- 
pelled to  take  refuge  in  the  neighboring  castle  of  Montiel.  The 
fortress  was  so  strictly  blockaded  by  the  victorious  enemy,  that 
the  king  was  compelled  to  attempt  his  escape  by  night,  with  only 
twelve  persons  in  his  retinue,  Ferdinand  de  Castro  being  the 
person  of  most  note  among  them.  As  they  wandered  in  the 
dark,  they  were  encountered  by  a  body  of  French  cavalry  male- 


296  NOTES    ON 

ing  the  rounds,  commanded  by  an  adventurous  knight,  called  Le 
Begue  of  Villaines.  Compelled  to  surrender,  Don  Pedro  put 
himself  under  the  safeguard  of  this  officer,  promising  him  a  rich 
ransom,  if  he  would  conceal  him  from  the  knowledge  of  his 
brother  Henry.  The  knight,  according  to  Froissart,  promised 
him  concealment,  and  conveyed  him  to  his  own  quarters.  But 
in  the  course  of  an  hour,  Henry  was  apprised  that  he  was  taken, 
and  came  with  some  of  his  followers,  to  the  tent  of  Allan  de  la 
Houssaye,  where  his  unfortunate  brother  had  been  placed.  In 
entering  the  chamber,  he  exclaimed,  "  Where  is  that  whore-son 
and  Jew,  who  calls  himself  King  of  Castile  ?  "  Pedro,  as  proud 
and  fearless  as  he  was  cruel,  stepped  instantly  forward  and  re- 
plied, "  Here  I  stand,  the  lawful  son  and  heir  of  Don  Alphonso, 
and  it  is  thou  that  art  but  a  false  bastard."  The  rival  brethren 
instantly  grappled  like  lions,  the  French  knights  and  Du  Gues- 
clin  himself  looking  on.  Henry  drew  his  poniard  and  wounded 
Pedro  in  the  face,  but  his  body  was  defended  by  a  coat  of  mail ; 
and  in  the  struggle  which  ensued,  Henry  fell  across  a  bench, 
and  his  brother  being  uppermost,  had  wellnigh  mastered  him, 
when  one  of  Henry's  followers  seizing  Don  Pedro  by  the  leg, 
turned  him  over,  and  his  master  gaining  the  upper  hand,  in- 
stantly poniarded  him.  Froissart  calls  this  man  the  Vicompte 
de  Roquebetyn,  and  others  the  Bastard  d'Anisse.  Menard,  in 
his  History  of  Du  Guesclin,  says,  that  while  all  around  gazed 
like  statues  on  the  furious  struggle  of  the  brothers,  Du  Guesclin 
exclaimed  to  this  attendant  of  Henry,  "  What !  will  you  stand  by 
and  see  your  master  placed  at  such  a  pass  by  a  false  renegade  — 
Make  forward  and  aid  him,  for  well  you  may." 

Pedro's  head  was  cut  off,  and  his  remains  were  meanly  buried. 
They  were  afterwards  disinterred  by  his  daughter,  the  wife  of 
John  of  Gaunt,  and  deposited  in  Seville,  with  the  honors  due  to 
his  rank.  His  memory  was  regarded  with  a  strange  mixture  of 
horror  and  compassion,  which  recommended  him  as  a  subject  for 
legend  and  for  romance.  He  had  caused  his  wife  Blanche  de 
Bourbon  to  be  assassinated  —  had  murdered  three  of  his  bro- 
thers—  banished  his  mother,  and  committed  numberless  cruel- 
ties upon  his  subjects.  He  had,  which  the  age  held  equally 
scandalous,  held  a  close  intimacy  with  the  Jews  and  Saracens, 
and  had  enriched  him  at  the  expense  of  the  church.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  all  these  crimes,  his  undaunted  bravery  and  energy  of 


DON   QUIXOTE.  297 

character,  together  with  the  strange  circumstances  of  his  death, 
excited  milder  feelings  towards  his  memory.  There  are  many 
ballads  founded  on  Don  Pedro's  history.  That  which  Sancho 
afterwards  quotes  more  than  once,  giving  an  account  of  his 
death,  may  be  thus  translated : 

THE    DEATH    OF    DON    PEDRO. 

I. 

Henry  and  King  Pedro  clasping, 

Hold  in  straining  arms  each  other; 
Tugging  hard,  and  closely  grasping, 

Brother  proves  his  strength  with  brother 

H. 

Harmless  pastime,  sport  fraternal, 

Blends  not  thus  their  limbs  in  strife ; 
Either  aims  with  rage  infernal, 

Naked  dagger,  sharpened  knife. 

m. 

Close  Don  Henry  grapples  Pedro, 

Pedro  holds  Don  Henry  strait, 
Breathing  this  triumphant  fury, 

That  despair  and  mortal  hate. 

IV. 

Sole  spectator  of  the  struggle, 

Stands  Don  Henry's  page  afa,r, 
In  the  chase  who  bore  his  bugle, 

And  who  bore  his  sword  in  war. 

V. 

Down  they  go  in  deadly  wrestle, 

Down  upon  the  earth  they  go, 
Fierce  King  Pedro  has  the  vantage, 

Stout  Don  Henry  falls  below. 

VI. 

Marking  then  the  fatal  crisis, 

Up  the  page  of  Henry  ran, 
By  the  waist  he  caught  Don  Pedro, 

Aiding  thus  the  fallen  man. 


298  NOTES   ON 

VII. 
"  King  to  place,  or  to  depose  him, 

Dwelleth  not  in  my  desire, 
But  the  duty  which  he  owes  him, 

To  his  master  pays  the  squire." 

vni. 

Now  Don  Henry  has  the  upmost, 
Now  King  Pedro  lies  beneath, 

In  his  heart  his  brother's  poniard 
Instant  finds  its  bloody  sheath. 

IX. 

Thus  with  mortal  gasp  and  quiver, 
While  the  blood  in  bubbles  well'd, 

Fled  the  fiercest  soul  that  ever 
In  a  Christian  bosom  dwell'd. 


There  is  another  old  Spanish  ballad  on  the  death  of  Pedro, 
of  which  Depping,  the  German  collector,  speaks  in  terms  of 
high  commendation.  As  Pedro's  story  is  so  frequently  alluded 
to  by  Cervantes,  I  shall  insert  a  translation  of  this  also. 


THE   PROCLAMATION    OF   KING   HENRY. 

I. 

At  the  feet  of  Don  Henrique  now  King  Pedro  dead  is  lying, 
Not  that  Henry's  might  was  greater,  but  that  blood  to  heaven  was  crying 
Though  deep  the  dagger  had  its  sheath  within  his  brother's  breast, 
Firm  on  the  frozen  throat  beneath  Don  Henry's  foot  is  prest. 

II. 

So  dark  and  sullen  is  the  glare  of  Pedro's  lifeless  eyes, 
Still  half  he  fears  what  slumbers  there,  to  vengeance  may  arise. 
So  stands  the  brother;  on  his  brow  the  mark  of  blood  is  seen, 
Yet  had  he  not  been  Pedro's  Cain,  his  Cain  had  Pedro  been. 

III. 

Close  round  the  scene  of  cursed  strife,  the  armed  knights  appear 
Of  either  band,  with  silent  thoughts  of  joy  fulness  or  fear; 
All  for  a  space,  in  silence,  the  fratricide  survey, 
Then  sudden  bursts  the  mingling  voice  of  triumph  and  dismay. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  299 

IV. 

Glad  shout  on  shout  from  Henry's  host,  ascends  unto  the  sky; 
"  God  save  King  Henry —  save  the  King —  King  Henry !  "  is  their  cry. 
But  Pedro's  Barons  clasp  their  brows,  in  sadness  stand  they  near, 
Whate'er  to  others  he  had  been,  their  friend  lies  murdered  here. 

V. 

The  deed,  say  those,  was  justly  done  —  a  tyrant's  soul  is  sped ; 
Those  ban  and  curse  the  traitorous  blow,  by  which  a  king  is  dead. 
"  Now  see,"  cries  one,  how  heaven's  amand  asserts  the  people's  rights; " 
Another — "  God  will  judge  the  hand  that  God's  anointed  smites." 

VI. 

"  The  Lord's  vicegerent,"  quoth  a  priest,  "  is  sovereign  of  the  land, 
And  he  rebels  'gainst  heaven's  behest,  that  slights  his  king's  command." 
"  Now  heaven  be  witness,  if  he  sinn'd,"  thus  speaks  a  gallant  young, 
"  The  fault  was  in  Padilla's  eye,  that  o'er  him  magic  flung. 

vn. 

"  Or  if  no  magic  be  her  blame,  so  heavenly  fair  is  she, 

The  wisest,  for  so  bright  a  dame,  might  well  a  sinner  be. 

Let  none  speak  ill  of  Pedro  —  No  Roderick  hath  he  been, 

He  dearly  loved  fair  Spain,  although  'tis  true  he  slew  the  Queen." 

vm. 

The  words  he  spoke  they  all  might  hear,  yet  none  vouchsafe  reply, 
"  God  save  great  Henry — save  the  King — King  Henry!  "  is  the  cry; 
While  Pedro's  liegemen  turn  aside,  their  groans  are  in  your  ear, 
"  Whate'er  to  others  he  hath  been,  our  friend  lies  slaughtered  here!  " 

IX. 

Nor  paltry  souls  are  wanting  among  King  Pedro's  band, 
That  now  their  King  is  dead,  draw  near  to  kiss  his  murderer's  hand ; 
The  false  cheek  clothes  it  in  a  smile,  and  laughs  the  hollow  eye, 
And  wags  the  traitor  tongue  the  while  with  flattery's  ready  lie. 


"  The  valour  of  the  King  that  is —  the  justice  of  his  cause  — 
The  blindness  and  the  tyrannies  of  him  the  king  that  was  — 
All  —  all  are  doubled  in  their  speech,  yet  truth  enough  is  there 
To  sink  the  spirit  shivering  near,  in  darkness  of  despair. 


300  NOTES   ON 

XI. 

The  murder  of  the  Master,*  the  tender  Infant's  doom, 

And  blessed  Blanche's  thread  of  life  snapt  short  in  dungeon's  gloom, 

With  tragedies  yet  unreveal'd,  that  stain'd  the  king's  abode, 

By  lips  his  bounty  should  have  seal'd,  are  blazon'd  black  abroad. 

XII. 

Whom  served  he  most  at  others'  cost,  most  loud  they  rend  the  sky, 
"  God  save  great  Henry  —  save  our  King  —  King  Henry! "  is  the  cry. 
But  still,  amid  too  many  foes,  the  grief  is  in  your  ear 
Of  dead  King  Pedro's  faithful  few  —  "Alas !  our  lord  lies  here ! " 

XIII. 

But  others'  tears,  and  others'  groans,  what  are  they,  match'd  with  thine, 
Maria  de  Padilla —  star  of  thine  exiled  line! 
Because  she  is  King  Henry's  slave,  the  damsel  weepeth  sore, 
Because  she's  Pedro's  widow'd  love,  alas !  she  weepeth  more. 

XIV. 

"  0  Pedro!  Pedro!  hear  her  cry  —  how  often  did  I  say 
That  wicked  counsel  and  weak  trust  would  haste  thy  life  away;  " 
She  stands  upon  her  turret  top,  she  looks  down  from  on  high, 
Where  mantled  in  his  bloody  cloak  she  sees  her  lover  lie. 

XV. 

Low  lies  King  Pedro  in  his  blood,  while  bending  down  ye  see 
Caitiffs  that  trembled  ere  he  spake,  crouch'd  at  his  murderer's  knee; 
They  place  the  sceptre  in  his  hand,  and  on  his  head  the  crown, 
And  trumpets  clear  are  blown,  and  bells  are  merry  through  the  town. 

XVI. 

The  sun  shines  bright,  and  the  gay  rout  with  clamors  rend  the  sky, 
"  God  save  great  Henry —  save  the  King —  King  Henry !  "  is  the  cry; 
But  the  pale  Jewess  weeps  above,  with  many  a  bitter  tear, 
Whate'er'he  was,  he  was  her  love,  and  he  lies  slaughtered  here. 

XVII. 

At  first,  in  silence  down  her  cheek  the  drops  of  sadness  roll, 
But  rage  and  anger  come  to  break  the  sorrow  of  her  soul ; 
The  triumph  of  her  haters  —  the  gladness  of  their  cries, 
Enkindle  flames  of  ire  and  scorn  within  her  tearful  eyes. 


*  The  Master  of  the  order  of  Calatrava,  who  was  treacherously  invited 
to  a  banquet,  and  slain  by  Pedro  shortly  before. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  301 

XVIII. 

In  her  hot  cheek  the  blood  mounts  high,  as  she  stands  gazing  down, 
Now  on  proud  Henry's  royal  state,  his  robe  and  golden  crown, 
And  now  upon  the  trampled  cloak  that  hides  not  from  her  view 
The  slaughter'd  Pedro's  marble  brow,  and  lips  of  livid  hue. 

XIX. 

With  furious  grief  she  twists  her  hands  among  her  long  black  hairs, 
And  all  from  off  her  lovely  brow  the  blameless  locks  she  tears : 
She  tears  the  ringlets  from  her  front,  and  scatters  all  the  pearls 
King  Pedro's  hand  had  planted  among  the  raven  curls. 

XX. 

*  Stop,  caitiff  tongues !  "  —  they  hear  her  not —  "  King  Pedro's  love 

am  I." 

They  heed  her  not  — "  God  save  the  King  —  great  Henry !  "  still  they  cry. 
She  rends  her  hair,  she  wrings  her  hands,  but  none  to  help  is  near, 
"  God  look  in  vengeance  on  their  deed,  my  lord  lies  murdered  here ! " 

XXI. 

Away  she  flings  her  garments,  her  broider'd  veil  and  vest, 
As  if  they  should  behold  her  love  within  her  lovely  breast  — 
As  if  to  call  upon  her  foes  the  constant  heart  to  see, 
Where  Pedro's  form  is  still  enshrined,  and  evermore  shall  be. 

xxn. 

But  none  on  fair  Maria  looks,  by  none  her  breast  is  seen, 
Save  angry  Heaven,  remembering  well  the  murder  of  the  Queen, 
The  wounds  of  jealous  harlot  rage,  which  virgin  blood  must  staunch, 
And  all  the  scorn  that  mingled  in  the  bitter  cup  of  Blanche. 

xxni. 

The  utter  coldness  of  neglect  that  haughty  spirit  stings, 

As  if  a  thousand  fiends  were  there,  with  all  their  flapping  wings ; 

She  wraps  the  veil  about  her  head,  as  if  'twere  all  a  dream  — 

The  love  —  the  murder  —  and  the  wrath  —  and  that  rebellious  scream ; 

XXIV. 

For  still  there's  shouting  on  the  plain,  and  spurring  far  and  nigh, 
u  God  save  the  King  — Amen !  amen !  —  King  Henry ! "  is  the  cry ; 
While  Pedro  all  alone  is  left  upon  his  bloody  bier, 
Not  one  remains  to  cry  to  God,  "  Our  lord  lies  murder'd  here ! " 

The  story  of  Blanche  of  Bourbon  has  been  alluded  to  so  fre- 


o02  NOTES   ON 

quently,  that  1  shall  venture  on  inserting  a  translation  of  an- 
other of  these  ballads,  in  which  her  murder  is  described. 


THE  DEATH  OF  QUEEN  BLANCHE. 

Maria  de  Padilla,  be  not  thus  of  dismal  mood, 

For  if  I  twice  have  wedded  me,  it  all  was  for  thy  good, 

But  if  upon  Queen  Blanche  ye  will  that  I  some  scorn  should  show, 

For  a  banner  to  Medina  my  messenger  shall  go ; 

The  work  shall  be  of  Blanche's  tears,  of  Blanche's  blood  the  ground; 

Such  pennon  shall  they  weave  for  thee,  such  sacrifice  be  found. 

Then  to  the  Lord  of  Ortis,  that  excellent  baron, 

He  said,  "  Now  hear  me,  Ynigo,  forthwith  for  this  begone." 

Then  answer  made  Don  Ynigo,  "  Such  gift  I  ne'er  will  bring, 

For  he  that  harmeth  Lady  Blanche,  doth  harm  my  lord  the  King." 

Then  Pedro  to  his  chamber  went,  his  cheek  was  burning  red, 

And  to  a  bowman  of  his  guard  the  dark  command  he  said. 

The  bowman  to  Medina  pass'dj  when  the  queen  beheld  him  near, 

"Alas!  "  she  said,  "my  maidens,  he  brings  my  death  I  fear." 

Then  said  the  archer,  bending  low,  "  The  king's  commandment  take, 

And  see  thy  soul  be  ordered  well  with  God  that  did  it  make, 

For  lo !  thine  hour  is  come,  therefrom  no  refuge  may  there  be." 

Then  gently  spoke  the  Lady  Blanche,  "  My  friend,  I  pardon  thee; 

Do  what  thou  wilt,  so  be  the  king  hath  his  commandment  given, 

Deny  me  not  confession  —  if  so,  forgive  ye  heaven." 

Much  grieved  the  bowman  for  her  tears,  and  for  her  beauty's  sake, 

While  thus  Queen  Blanche  of  Bourbon  her  last  complaint  did  make :  - 

"  Oh  France !  my  noble  country  —  oh  blood  of  high  Bourbou, 

Not  eighteen  years  have  I  seen  out  before  my  life  is  gone. 

The  king  hath  never  known  me.     A  virgin  true  I  die. 

Whate'er  I've  done,  to  proud  Castillo  no  treason  e'er  did  I. 

The  crown  they  put  upon  my  head  was  a  crown  of  blood  and  sighs, 

God  grant  me  soon  another  crown  more  precious  in  the  skies." 

These  words  she  spake,  then  down  she  knelt,  and  took  the  bowman's 

blow  — 
Her  tender  neck  was  cut  in  twain,  and  out  her  blood  did  flow. 


NOTE  XIX.  p.  25. 

Expecting  that  some  Dwarf  would  appear  on  the  battlements. — 
The  DWARF  is  a  personage  familiar  to  every  reader  of  romance ; 
and  without  doubt  the  writers  of  romances  took  him  from  their 
own  observation  of  actual  manners.  In  the  natural  deformity, 
which  is  contemplated  in  these  days  with  no  feelings  but  those 


DON   QUIXOTE.  303 

of  pain  and  pity,  it  seems  undeniable  that  even  the  "  delicatis- 
eimo  donzelle  "  of  the  elder  time  had  found  much  store  of  such 
mirth  as  suited  their  fancy.  The  readers  of  Ariosto,  and  the 
other  wits  of  the  old  Italian  school,  do  not  need  to  be  reminded 
of  the  more  enviable  parts  sometimes  ascribed  to  these  "  Sgrin- 
uti  monstri  e  contrafatti."  It  is  only  within  these  few  years  that 
the  Dwarf  has  ceased  to  be  a  regular  piece  of  furniture  in  the 
saloons  of  the  great  ladies  of  Poland  and  Russia. 

The  expectation  under  which  the  Don  approaches  the  ima- 
gined castle,  is  quite  in  character.  In  the  Espejo,  p.  1.  c.  86, 
we  find  that,  "  A  un  lado  de  la  fuerte  casa  estava  un  Enano  per 
avisar  la  venida  del  ladron  Minapreso,  el  qual  sono  el  cuerno ; " 
and  in  Boiardo,  (L.  1.  c.  29.  v.  41,)  the  arrival  of  a  noble  per- 
sonage is  announced  in  the  same  manner. 

"  Orlando  verso  el  Pino  se  n'andava, 
Ecco  sopra  una  torre  appare  un  Nano, 
Che  incontinente  un  gran  corno  sonava." 

Again  in  the  Gyrone,  L.  15.  89. 

"  Ne  molte  stan  che  della  torre  un  corno 
Con  horribil  romor  nell'  aria  suona, 
Ecco  apparir  sopra  un  cavallo  adorno 
Un  cavalier  con  lucide  arme  intorno." 

And  in  our  own  old  Romance  : 

A  dwarf  shall  wend  by  her  side, 
Such  was  Lauucelot's  commandement ; 
So  were  the  manners  in  that  tide, 
When  a  maid  on  message  went. 

See  also  Ariosto,  C.  2.  48.  C.  4. 15.  &c. 

NOTE  XX.  p.  28. 

There  never  was  on  earth  a  knight 

So  waited  on  by  ladies  fair. 

The  lines  which  the  Don  here  applies  to  himself,  form  the 
opening  of  one  of  the  innumerable  ballads,  with  which  the  ro- 
mantic story  of  Launcelot  of  the  Lake  has  furnished  the  Spanish 
minstrels.  The  tone  of  the  ballad  is  considerably  different  from 


304  NOTES   ON 

that  which  English  readers  have  been  accustomed  to  meet  with 
in  the  narratives  of  the  loves  of  Queen  Ginevra  and  her  knight. 
See  Depping's  Sammlung,  p.  308. 

NTJNCA   FUERA    CAVALLEKO,    &C. 

Ne'er  was  cavalier  attended 

So  by  damsel  and  by  dame, 
As  Sir  Launcelot  the  worthy, 

When  from  Brittany  he  came. 

Ladies  fair  attended  on  him, 

Highborn  damsels  dress'd  his  steed, 
She,  the  courteous  Quintanona, 

Pour'd  herself  the  wine  and  mead. 

Tell,  I  pray,  the  reason  wherefore, 

So  to  him  they  minister'd  — 
Sure  of  lovely  Queen  Ginevra, 

Ne'er  the  story  have  you  heard. 


Once,  when  dark  was  all  the  valley, 

To  Ginevra  came  her  knight, 
By  her  lonely  lamp  he  saw  her  — 

"  Ha !  "  quoth  he,  "  your  cheek  is  white !  " 

"  If  I'm  pale,"  quoth  Queen  Ginevra, 

"  'Tis  for  anger,  not  for  fear. 
But  yon  knight  had  never  said  so, 

Had  my  Launcelot  been  near. 

"  Words  he  spake  might  well  enrage  me, 
Scornful  words  the  false  knight  spake." 

"  Ha!  "  quoth  Launcelot,  "  securely 
Sleeps  he  that  to  death  shall  wake." 

Forth,  ere  yet  the  day  is  dawning, 

Gaily  rides  Sir  Launcelot, 
Soon  he  meets  the  ribald  scorner, 

Yonder  pine-trees  mark  the  spot. 

Underneath  the  verdant  pine-trees, 

Launcelot  his  charger  reining, 
Dares  the  knight  to  mortal  combat, 

For  his  words  of  foul  disdaining. 


DON    QUIXOTE.  3UA 

In  the  first  career  their  lances 

Both  are  shiver' d  at  the  thrust, 
They  have  drawn  their  battle-axes, 

Blood-drops  rain  upon  the  dust. 

Ha !  within  the  ribald's  bosoin 
Quakes  and  droops  his  conscious  soul. 

Soon  the  blow  of  rightful  vengeance 
Gives  him  in  the  dust  to  roll. 

Fair  Ginevra's  smile  was  sweet, 

Balmy  were  the  words  she  said, 
When  her  true-love  at  her  feet, 

Toss'd  that  night  the  caitiff's  head. 

The  story  of  this  ballad  seems  to  be  merely  a  different  version 
of  Sir  Launcelot's  famous  battle  with  Sir  Mador,  by  which 
Queen  Ginevra  was  saved  from  expiating  at  the  stake  her  sup- 
posed guilt  in  relation  to  the  death  of  "  the  Scottish  knight  that 
Queen  Ganore  by  poison  slough." 

But  those  who  are  read  in  the  old  romances,  know  how  fre- 
quently gifts  of  "  caitiffs'  heads  "  were  received  with  delight,  by 
fair  hands,  from  the  peerless  Sir  Lauucelot  du  Lake.  They 
know  also  how  irresistible  were  the  personal  attractions  of  the 
cavalier  to  whom  Don  Quixote,  in  the  text,  compares  himself. 
There  is,  for  example,  the  whole  adventure  of  the  amorous 
young  lady  of  the  Castle  of  Ascalot,  which  is  detailed  with  infi- 
nite naivete  in  the  Morte  Arthur. 

Launcelot  wist  iclmt  was  her  witt, 

Well  he  knew  by  other  mo, 
Her  brother  cleped  he  him  till, 

And  to  her  chamber  gonne  they  go. 

He  set  him  downe  for  the  maiden's  sake, 

Upon  her  bed  there  she  lay; 
Courteously  to  her  he  spake, 

For  to  comfort  that  fair  May. 

In  her  arms  she  gan  him  take, 

And  these  words  gan  she  say, 
"  Sir,  but  gif  that  ye  it  make, 

Save  my  life  no  leech  may." 

VOL.  i.  20 


o06  NOTES   ON 


"  Sir,  gif  that  your  will  it  were, 
Sith  I  of  thee  ne  may  have  mair, 

Something  ye  would  leave  me  here, 
To  look  on  when  me  langeth  sair,"  &c. 

There  is  no  agreement  among  the  critics  of  romance  as  to  the 
parentage  of  the  first  history  of  the  Achievements  of  Launcelot 
of  the  Lake.  Mr.  Ellis  says,  that  of  all  the  versions  of  that 
strange  history,  the  most  meritorious  is  that  written  in  verse  by 
Chretien  de  Troyes  in  the  12th  century,  and  entitled,  "La  Cha- 
rette."  The  general  outline  cannot  be  better  told  than  in  Mr. 
Ellis's  own  words. 

"  King  Ban,  whose  acts  of  prowess  we  have  so  often  witnessed, 
having  returned  in  his  old  age  to  Britany,  was  again  attacked 
by  his  inveterate  enemy  Claudas ;  and,  after  a  long  war,  saw 
himself  reduced  to  the  possession  of  a  single  fortress,  the  impreg- 
nable castle  of  Trible,  where  he  was  besieged  by  the  enemy.  In 
this  extremity,  he  determined  to  solicit  the  assistance  of  Arthur, 
and  escaped  in  a  dark  night  with  his  infant  son  Lancelot  and  his 
queen  Helen,  leaving  the  castle  of  Trible  in  the  hands  of  his 
seneschal,  who  immediately  betrayed  the  place  to  Claudas.  The 
flames  of  his  burning  citadel  reached  the  eyes  of  the  unfortu- 
nate monarch  during  his  flight,  and  he  expired  with  grief.  The 
wretched  Helen,  abandoning  for  a  moment  the  care  of  her  in- 
fant son,  flew  to  the  assistance  of  her  husband,  and,  returning 
after  the  fruitless  attempt  to  restore  his  life,  discovered  the  little 
Lancelot  in  the  arms  of  a  nymph,  who,  on  her  approach,  sud- 
denly sprung  with  the  child  into  a  deep  lake,  and  instantly  dis- 
appeared. This  nymph  was  the  beautiful  Vivian,  the  mistress 
of  the  enchanter  Merlin,  who  thought  fit  to  undertake  the  edu- 
cation of  the  infant  hero  at  her  court,  which  was  situated  within 
this  imaginary  lake ;  and  hence  her  pupil  was  afterwards  distin- 
guished by  the  name  of  Lancelot  du  Lac. 

"  The  queen,  after  this  double  loss,  retired  to  a  convent,  where 
she  was  soon  joined  by  the  widow  of  Bohort ;  for  this  good  king, 
on  learning  the  death  of  his  brother,  died  also  of  grief,  leaving 
two  infant  sons,  Lyonel  and  Bohort ;  who,  having  been  for  some 
time  secreted  by  a  faithful  knight,  named  Farien,  from  the  fury 


DON   QUIXOTE.  307 

of  Claudas,  were  afterwards  carried  off  by  the  lady  of  the  lake, 
and  educated  in  company  with  their  cousin  Lancelot. 

"  The  fairy,  when  her  pupil  had  attained  the  age  of  eighteen, 
conveyed  him  to  the  court  of  Arthur,  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
manding his  admission  to  the  honor  of  knighthood ;  and  at  the 
first  appearance  of  the  youthful  candidate,  the  graces  of  his  per- 
son, which  were  not  inferior  to  his  courage  and  activity,  made 
an  instantaneous  and  indelible  impression  on  the  heart  of  Gue- 
never,  while  her  charms  inspired  him  with  an  equally  ardent 
and  constant  passion.  The  amours  of  these  lovers  threw  a  very 
singular  coloring  over  the  whole  history  of  Arthur.  It  is  for  the 
sake  of  Guenever  that  the  amorous  Lancelot  achieves  the  con- 
quest of  Northumberland;  that  he  defeats  Gallehaut,  King  of 
the  Marches,  who  afterwards  becomes  his  secret  and  most  at- 
tached confidant ;  that  he  cleaves  down  numberless  giants,  and 
lays  whole  cargoes  of  tributary  crowns  at  the  feet  of  his  suze- 
rain, finding,  in  his  stolen  interviews  with  the  queen,  an  ample 
indemnification  for  his  various  hardships  and  labors.  But  this 
is  not  all.  Arthur,  deceived  by  the  artifices  of  the  false  Gue- 
never, who  was,  as  we  have  seen,  the  illegitimate  daughter  of 
Leodegan,  declares  her  the  partner  of  his  throne,  and  dismisses 
his  queen  to  a  distant  province ;  where  she  is  immediately  joined 
by  her  lover,  and  follows  without  restraint  the  natural  bent  of 
her  inclinations.  Yet  Lancelot  is  dissatisfied ;  it  is  necessary  to 
the  dignity  of  his  mistress,  that  she  should  still  share  the  bed  of 
Arthur,  and  that,  protected  in  her  reputation  by  the  sword  of 
her  lover,  she  should  lead  a  life  of  ceremonious  and  splendid 
adultery.  This  point  is  accomplished,  and  their  intercourse  con- 
tinues as  usual." 

But  the  same  learned  and  elegant  critic  who  followed  Sir 
Walter  Scott  in  believing,  that  many  of  the  romantic  legends 
received  their  first  shape  from  the  minstrels  of  "  the  North 
Countrie,"  finds  strong  confirmation  of  his  theory  in  the  scenery 
amongst  which  the  achievements  of  Sir  Launcelot  and  his  com- 
panions are  represented  to  have  taken  place :  For  example, 
upon  the  authority  of  Knighton,  he  fixes  the  "  Chateau  de  la 
joyeuse  Garde,"  the  favorite  residence  of  Sir  Launcelot,  at  Ber- 
wick-upon-Tweed ;  and  adds,  that  at  Meigle  in  Angus,  tradition 
still  points  out  the  tomb  of  "  Dame  Ganore,"  the  beautiful  and 
lascivious  Queen  Guenever.  For  all  manner  of  information 


308  NOTES    ON 

concerning  the  Knight  of  the  Lake,  see  Mr.  Southey's  Edition 
of  the  Morte  Arthur,  Ellis's  Specimens  of  the  Metrical  Ro- 
mances, Vol.  I.,  and  the  Notes  to  Marmion  and  Sir  Tristrem. 

This  note  has  run  out  to  an  unreasonable  length,  but  it  would 
be  wrong  to  conclude  it  without  quoting  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful passages  that  is  to  be  found  either  in  romance  or  in  poetry  — 
the  speech  of  Sir  Bohart,  delivered  over  the  dead  body  of  Sir 
Launcelot  du  Lake :  —  "And  now,  I  dare  say,  that  Sir  Launce- 
lot,  there  thou  liest,  thou  were  never  matched  of  none  earthly 
knight's  hands.  And  thou  were  the  courtliest  knight  that  ever 
bare  shielde  — And  thou  were  the  truest  friend  to  thy  lover  that 
ever  bestrode  horse  — And  thou  were  the  truest  lover  of  a  syn- 
ful  man  that  ever  loved  woman  — And  thou  were  the  kindest 
man  that  ever  stroke  with  swerde  — And  thou  were  the  goodliest 
person  that  ever  came  among  prece  of  knyghtes — And  thou 
were  the  meekest  man,  and  the  gentillest,  that  ever  eate  in  hall 
among  ladies  — And  thou  were  the  sternest  knyghte  to  thy  mor- 
tal foe  that  ever  put  speare  in  rest."  —  MALORY. 

Long  after  the  old  romances  had  past  into  oblivion,  the  name 
of  Launcelot  was  kept  alive  among  our  common  people  by  bal- 
lads of  the  same  class  with  those  Spanish  ones  of  which  a  speci- 
men has  been  given  above.  The  most  popular  was  that  which 
begins :  — - 

When  Arthur  first  in  court  began, 
And  was  approved  king,  &c. 

NOTE  XXI.  p.  31. 

This  night  I  will  watch  my  armor  in  the  chapel  of  yon  castle. — 
This  was  invariably  a  part  of  the  ceremonial  described  on  all 
such  occasions  in  the  romances ;  thus,  "  aveys  de  saber,"  &c. 
Santiago,  49.  —  "  You  must  know  that  antiently  it  was  after  this 
fashion  the  order  of  knighthood  was  conferred ;  the  night  before 
any  one  was  to  assume  the  spurs,  it  behoved  him  to  be  armed 
cap-a-pee,  and  so  armed,  to  repair  unto  the  church,  and  to  stand 
there  on  his  feet  all  that  night  in  prayer." 

"  Venuta  la  vigilia  tutti  quei  Giovani  che  intendeano  di  esser 
cavalier  novelli  tornavano  alia  chiesa  ove  devotamente  vigliavano 
infino  che  di  buon  mattino  fusse  la  messe  celebrata."  Gyrone, 
ded. 


BOX   QUIXOTE.  309 

The  posture  seems,  however,  to  have  been  indifferently  either 
that  of  standing  or  kneeling.  Thus,  in  the  Amadis,  c.  4,  "  Ori- 
ana  came  before  the  king,  and  said,  now  dub  me  this  young  man 
knight;  and  in  so  saying,  he  pointed  towards  Amadis,  where 
(armed  at  all  points,  save  only  the  head  and  the  hands)  he  was 
kneeling  before  the  altar." 

St.  Ignatius  of  Loyola  conformed,  on  a  very  different  occasion, 
to  the  same  ceremonial.  Ribadeneira,  in  his  life  of  the  saint, 
says,  that  "  Ignatius,  as  he  had  read  in  his  books  of  chivalry,  how 
the  knights  were  accustomed  to  watch  their  arms ;  so,  to  imitate, 
as  a  new  knight  of  Christ  this  knightly  fashion,  he  also  watched 
the  whole  of  that  night  before  the  image  of  Our  Lady,  some- 
times standing  on  foot,  and  sometimes  kneeling  on  the  marble." 
Vida  1.  1.  c.  5.  The  reader  must  remember  the  very  coarse 
caricature  of  all  this  adventure,  in  Smollett's  Sir  Launcelot 
Greaves,  where  Captain  Crowe's  noviciate  is  described. 

NOTE  XXII.  p.  32. 

The  PercJieles  of  Malaga,  fyc.  —  These  were  all  places  noted 
for  rogueries  and  disorderly  doings.  The  Percheles  of  Malaga 
form  a  sort  of  suburb  of  that  town,  where  the  fish-market  is 
held.  Don  Louis  Zapata,  in  treating  of  the  great  plague  which 
raged  in  the  city  of  Malaga,  in  the  year  1582,  says,  "it  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  brought  thither  by  a  stranger,  who  died  of 
his  illness,  and  whose  foul  linen  was  forthwith  sold  to  some  of 
those  of  the  Percheles."  The  "  Isles  of  Riaran  "  are  not  to  be 
found  in  any  map ;  but  the  place  where  the  custom-house  stands, 
still  goes  by  that  name.  See  Carter's  Journey  from  Gibraltar  to 
Malaga,  London,  1 780.  It  would  appear  that  there  had  been  a 
few  small  islets  of  sand  close  to  the  shore,  some  of  which  had 
shifted  their  station,  while  the  space  between  others  of  them  and 
the  mainland  had  gradually  become  filled  up.  "  The  compass  of 
Seville "  was  (or  is)  the  name  of  an  open  space  before  one  of 
the  churches  of  that  city,  the  scene  of  fairs,  shows,  auctions,  &c. 
The  "  Azozuejo  de  Segovia,"  translated  in  the  text,  "  Quicksilver 
house,"  is  said  by  Bowles  to  mean  nothing  but  a  certain  small 
place,  or  square,  —  at  once  the  Monmouth  Street  and  Exeter- 
Change  of  Segovia.  The  "  Potro"  of  Cordova  —  so  called  from 
a  fountain,  the  water  of  which  gushes  from  a  horse's  mouth  — 


310  NOTES    ON 

was  another  place  of  the  same  species.  They  had  all  become 
proverbial  before  the  days  of  Cervantes ;  thus,  "  I  say  not  that  I 
was  born  in  the  Potro  of  Cordova,  nor  refined  in  the  Quicksilver 
house  of  Segovia,"  &c.  —  Rojas,  282-3. 

NOTE  XXIII.  p.  33. 

Sending  them  some  damsel  or  dwarf  through  the.  air  in  a  cloud, 
frc.  —  An  instance  of  this  species  of  cure  may  be  found  in  Ama- 
dis  de  Grecia.  "  Now  Amadis  felt  from  the  sword  such  heat, 
that  it  seemed  to  him  he  was  burning  with  living  flames.  But 
forthwith  there  appeared  a  cloud,  which  covered  both  him,  and 
Urganda,  and  Lisuarte,  which  in  an  instant  opened,  and  they 
perceived  themselves  to  be  surrounded  with  a  company  of  four- 
and-twenty  damsels,  and  in  the  midst  of  them  was  that  honored 
old  Alquife,  who  held  in  his  hand  a  large  glass  phial  of  water ; 
with  which  when  he  had  smitten  upon  the  helmet,  the  phial 
broke,  and  the  water  rushing  down  immediately,  there  passed 
from  him  all  that  burning  glow' of  the  sword." —  P.  2.  c.  62. 

The  fair  Jewess  in  Ivanhoe,  has  her  medical  skill  in  common 
with  almost  all  the  damsels  of  romance  ;  thus, 


"  Bernardo  de  su  Elaga,  fue  curado, 
Per  manos  de  la  ya  libra  Donzella." 

Garrido,  C.  7.  78. 

"  Una  fanciulla  che  il  lor  oste  aveva, 
Medicava  Rinaldo." 

Puki,  M.  M.  C.  20.  79,  &c.  &c. 

I  need  scarcely  refer  the  reader  to  the  story  of  the  pretty 
Beguine,  in  Tristram  Shandy,  for  the  best  account  of  this  speciea 
of  clinical  practice. 

NOTE  XXIV.  p.  36. 

"  Thou  Queen  of  Beauty"  said  he,  bracing  on  his  shield,  Sfc.  — 
This  invocation  to  Dulcinea,  is  copied  almost  literatim  from  one 
in  Olivante.  "Ay,  soberana  Senora,"  &c.  "  O,  sovereign  lady, 
grant  me  thy  favor  in  this  battle.  Help  me,  fairest  lady,  and 
desert  me  not  utterly."  See  1.  2.  c.  4.  The  efficacy  of  this  spe- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  311 

cies  of  prayer  is  thus  noticed  in  Amadis  of  Gaul.  See  1.  2.  c.  55. 
"  Beltenebros  descended  against  the  giant,  and,  before  he  came 
close  to  him,  looking  towards  the  place  where  Miraflores  was. 
'  O,  my  lady  Oriana,'  said  he,  '  never  do  I  begin  any  deed  of 
arms,  trusting  in  any  strength  of  mine  own,  whatsoever  it  may 
be,  but  in  thee  only ;  therefore,  oh  now,  my  dear  lady,  succor 
me,  seeing  how  great  is  the  necessity.'  And  with  this,  it  seemed 
that  there  came  to  him  so  much  Vigour,  that  all  Fear  was  forth- 
with fain  to  fly  away." 

NOTE  XXV.  p.  37. 

He  was  mad,  and  consequently  the  law  would  acquit  him,  al- 
though he  should  kill  them,  fyc. — The  technical  description,  in  the 
civil  law,  of  "  the  madman  not  to  be  punished,"  viz.  "Absurda  et 
tristia  sibi  dicens  atque  fingens,"  could  most  certainly  fit  no  one 
more  exactly  than  the  guest  of  whom  the  good  innkeeper  spoke 
thus.  In  the  tragical  story  of  Lord  Ferrers,  (see  the  State 
Trials,)  we  have  the  very  striking  example  of  a  man  proceeding 
deliberately  and  calmly  to  the  perpetration  of  an  atrocious  mur- 
der, under  the  belief,  that  the  plea  of  hereditary  insanity  would 
be  available  to  save  himself  from  the  last  severity  of  the  law. 
Hence,  the  obvious  propriety  of  limiting,  as  narrowly  as  possible, 
the  application  of  the  doctrine  laid  down  by  the  innkeeper. 

NOTE  XXVI.  p.  38. 

He  lifted  up  his  sword,  and  gave  him  a  good  Uoio  on  the  neck, 
fyc.  —  This  practical  joke  seems  to  have  occurred  to  other  con- 
ferrers  of  knighthood,  besides  mine  host  of  the  castle. 

Thus,  "  Franc  chevalier  donnez  moi  la  collee  de  chevalerie. 
Certes  Passellion,  dit  Lionnel,  je  le  feray  voulontiers,  a  tant  il 
haulse  la  main  dextre  et  1'enfant  baisse  le  col,  et  le  chevalier 
ferit  dessus  complement  en  disant.  Certes,  Gentil  Passellion, 
Chevalier  Soyes.  Quand  Passellion,  cut  receu  la  collee  que  luy 
Jit  douloir  le  col  par  sa  grandeur,"  &c.  • —  Perceforest,  V.  4.  C.  14. 

Queen  Elizabeth  is  introduced  in  Kenilworth,  as  giving  a 
collie  of  malicious  sincerity  on  a  similar  occasion.  —  See  Du- 
cange  sub  voce  Alapa  Militaris. 

NOTE  XXVH.  p.  43. 
Every  man   is  the  son  of  his  own  works,  Sfc. — There  is  no 


312  NOTES   ON 

country  in  the  world  that  has  suffered  more  from  the  excessive 
respect  allowed  to  the  pretension  of  birth,  than  Spain;  and  none 
by  whose  authors  the  same  pretension  is  more  severely  ridiculed. 
There  is  something  of  amusement  in  the  gravity  with  which 
Villa  Diego  speaks :  "  Hidalgo  igitur  ille  solus  dicetur  qui  Chris- 
tiana virtute  pollet.  Fidalgo,  id  est  filius  bonorom  operum  et 
virtutum;  et  inde  vulgo  dicitur  cada  uno  es  hijo  de  sus  obras." — 
VILL.  F.  25. 

NOTE  XXVIII.  p.  .46. 

Confess  that  there  is  not  in  the  universe  a  more  beautiful  damsel 
than  the  empress  of  La  Mancha,  Sfc. — The  terms  here  proposed 
by  Don  Quixote  are,  after  all,  modest,  compared  with  what  we 
find  in  some  of  the  romances  by  whose  light  he  walked.  In  the 
Amadis  de  Grecia,  (p.  1.  c.  64.)  there  is  the  following  passage, 
which  may  serve  for  an  example.  "  The  Duke  said,  Sir  Knight, 
it  is  now  time  you  should  be  made  to  know  that  the  beauty  of 
Infaliana  surpasses  in  worth  that  which  so  greatly  you  prize. 
Brimartes  made  answer,  Sir  Knight,  for  certain  no  such  know- 
ledge can  I  possess,  for  in  those  who  have  never  seen  nor  known 
Infaliana,  how  can  knowledge  of  such  a  thing  be  found  ?  But 
what  are  arguments,  since  we  stand  here  at  the  proof?  The 
proof  fain  would  I  see,  quoth  the  Duke.  And  when  he  had  said 
so,  they  couched  their  lances,  and  at  the  full  career  of  their 
horses,  they  encountered,  being  well  covered  with  their  shields. 
#**###  -jhe  Duke  fell  so  heavily,  that  he  could  stir 
neither  foot  nor  hand.  Brimartes  stooped  and  unlaced  his  vizor. 
The  Duke  slowly  recovered  himself;  and  then  said  Brimartes, 
Sir  Knight,  you  are  a  dead  knight,  if  you  do  not  on  the  instant 
acknowledge  that  your  lady  in  nothing  equals  the  beauty  of  Ho- 
noria.  The  Duke  said  not  a  word,"  &c.  &c. 

If  the  reader  wishes  to  be  amused  with  an  excellent  account 
of  a  more  splendid  and  authentic  specimen  of  the  Combats  pour 
Vkonneur  des  dames,  I  refer  him  to  the  fifth  volume  of  the 
"  Melanges  tirees  d'une  Grand  Bibliotheque,"  where,  among 
other  French  MSS.  of  the  15th  century,  a  very  singular  one  is 
described,  containing  the  history  of  a  famous  festival  of  gallantry, 
celebrated  A.  D.  1493,  at  the  castle,  and  by  the  Lord  of  Sandri- 
court,  near  Pontoise,  and  therefore  known  by  the  name  of  Le 
pas  de  Sandricourt.  It  appears,  that  the  scheme  was  first  started 


DON   QUIXOTE.  313 

by  some  young  lords  of  the  court  of  Charles  VIII.,  and  that 
their  plan  was  put  into  execution  under  the  immediate  patron- 
age of  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  After  mentioning  the  names  of 
the  young  knights  who  were  "  to  defend  against  all  comers,  for 
the  honour  of  their  ladies,  the  Castle  of  Sandricourt,"  (among 
whom  we  find  those  of  the  Sire  de  Saint- Vallier,  father  to  the 
famous  Diana  de  Poitiers  —  of  Bernardin  de  Clermont,  Viscount 
of  Tallard — of  Louis  de  Hedouille  —  of  Georges  de  Sully,  &c. 
&c.)  —  the  author  proceeds  to  his  chivalrous  relation  at  great 
length.  Vide  Melanges,  Vol.  V.  p.  33. 

NOTE  XXIX.  p.  50. 

His  folly  brought  to  his  remembrance  the  story  of  Baldwin  and 
the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  fyc.  —  Cervantes  is  here  evidently  amus- 
ing himself  at  the  expense  of  one  Geronimo  Trevino,  whose 
ballad  or  romance  of  Baldwin  (in  three  parts)  had  been  printed 
in  Alcala,  anno  1598.  The  story  of  the  romance  is,  that  Char- 
lot,  (or  Carloto,)  son  of  Charlemagne,  came  unawares  upon 
Baldwin  (or  Baldo vinos)  in  the  Floresta  Sin  Ventura  ;  his  pur- 
pose being  no  other  than  to  kill  Baldwin,  and  then  marry  his 
widow.  He  gave  him,  it  appears,  no  less  than  two-and-twenty 
mortal  wounds,  (we  can  scarcely  imagine  the  Don  to  have  made 
as  exact  a  computation  of  the  blows  he  himself  had  just  received 
from  the  muleteer,)  and  then  left  him  for  dead  in  the  forest.  By 
good  fortune,  however,  Baldwin's  uncle,  the  Marquis  of  Mantua, 
happened  to  be  passing  at  the  moment  through  the  wood,  and 
hearing  the  wounded  knight's  lamentations,  was  soon  drawn  to 
the  spot  where  he  lay.  He  sent  a  message  to  the  emperor,  who 
resided  at  Paris,  by  the  "  Count  Dirlos,  Viceroy  beyond  the  Sea," 
demanding  justice ;  and  Charlemagne  immediately  pronounced 
sentence  of  death  upon  his  son  Chariot.  Such  is  the  story.  The 
passage  of  the  romance,  which  Cervantes  alludes  to,  is  that 
which  contains ».  the  lamentations  of  the  wounded  man,  after  he 
had  received  all  his  wounds.  It  would  be  too  much  to  quote  the 
whole  of  the  verses  which  Cervantes  says  the  Don  applied  to  hig 
own  case ;  but  these  may  serve  as  a  sufficient  specimen  of  a  very 
flat  and  unprofitable  composition. 

'  0  my  princely  Infant  Marian !     0  my  cousin  Montesin ! 
0  my  Reynold !  and  Orlando !  0  thou  knightly  Paladin ! 


314  NOTES   ON 

***** 

"  0  my  noble  Lord  of  Mantua,  thy  soldier  time,  and  sister's  son 
Lies  here  wounded  in  the  forest  —  hears  nor  helps  him  never  one! 
Baldwin  was  my  christen'd  name  —  "  The  Frank"  they  call'd  me  too; 
I  am  the  king  of  Dacia's  son,  from  him  my  blood  I  drew. 
He  was  my  father  and  my  lord,  and  I  was  belted  knight, 
To  eat  bread  at  his  table,  and  for  his  banner  fight. 

***** 
"  The  beautiful  Sevilla,  she  pledged  her  troth  to  me ; 
She  was  my  wedded  wife,  but  my  widow  soon  she'll  be. 
Chariot,  it  was  no  other,  this  wicked  deed  hath  done ; 
I  lie  here  slain  by  Chariot,  the  good  King  Charles's  son. 
He  coveted  my  wife,  and  full  well  I  know  that  I 
Lie  here,  that  with  my  widow  my  murderer  may  lie." 

NOTE  XXX.  p.  52. 

He  bethought  himself  of  the  Moor  Abindarraez,  fyc. — The 
loves  of  the  Moor  Abindarraez,  and  of  the  beautiful  Xarifa, 
were  a  favorite  subject  of  song  amongst  the  Moorish,  as  well  as 
the  Christian  minstrels  of  Spain ;  and  Montemayor  has  intro- 
duced them  into  his  celebrated  pastoral  called  Diana.  The  tale 
runs  briefly  thus  — 

During  the  reign  of  King  Ferdinand  of  Arragon,  while  the 
Moorish  kingdom  of  Grenada  was  nodding  to  its  fall,  a  gallant 
Spanish  knight,  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez,  was  named  constable  or 
governor  of  the  Castle  of  Alhora,  near  the  boundaries  of  the 
Moorish  territory.  As  he  was,  according  to  his  custom,  one 
night  making  a  reconnoissance  at  the  head  of  several  of  his  fol- 
lowers, to  prevent  a  surprise  from  the  enemy,  he  met  a  young 
Moorish  cavalier  splendidly  armed  and  accoutred,  who  for  some 
time  defended  himself  valiantly  against  the  superior  force  of  his 
enemies ;  but  was  at  length  severely  wounded,  and  made  prison- 
er. The  Castilian  endeavored  to  comfort  his  noble  captive,  and 
treated  him  so  generously,  that  he  extracted  from  him  his  story. 
The  Moor  Abindarraez  had  been  bred  up  with  Xarifa,  daughter 
of  the  Alcayde  of  Coyn,  under  the  belief  that  she  was  his  sister, 
until  he  learned  by  chance  that  he  was  not  of  her  blood,  but  de- 
scended from  the  renowned,  but  unfortunate  family  of  the  Aben- 
cerrages.  Fraternal  affection  then  gave  place  to  a  stronger 
passion,  which  Xarifa  repaid  with  equal  warmth.  The  meeting 
of  the  lovers  could  only  be  by  night,  and  by  stealth ;  for  Abin- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  315 

darraez,  after  the  discovery  of  his  birth,  resided  no  longer  in  her 
father's  castle.  Xarifa  had  assigned  her  lover  a  rendezvous  upon 
the  unfortunate  night  when  he  fell  into  the  power  of  Don  Rod- 
rigo,  and  he  was  on  the  road  to  Coyn,  when  he  encountered  the 
Castilian  knight.  Don  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez  was  affected  by  the 
captive's  story ;  and  on  his  promise  to  return  within  three  days, 
and  surrender  himself  to  his  captor  at  the  Castle  of  Alhora,  he 
gave  him  liberty  to  keep  his  appointment.  He  arrives  there  in 
safety,  and  Xarifa,  reunited  to  her  lover,  refuses  again  to  part 
with  him.  She  returns  with  him  to  the  castle  of  Don  Rodrigo, 
who,  charmed  with  their  mutual  love,  the  constancy  of  Xarifa, 
and  the  gallantry  and  faith  of  Abindarraez,  restores  them  to 
liberty,  and  obtains  the  consent  of  the  Alcayde  of  Coyn  to  their 
union.  There  are  many  ballads  on  this  romantic  story,  of  which 
the  following  may  serve  as  a  specimen. 

ABINDARRAEZ   AND    XARIFA. 

I. 

The  bold  Moor,  young  Abindarraez, 

Nigh  the  castle  checks  his  rein, 
Where  his  love,  the  fair  Xarifa, 

Long  had  watch' d,  and  wept  in  vain. 

n. 

"  Do  I  live  to  hope  that  coldness, 

Or  some  brighter  maiden's  charms, 
Keep  the  faithless  Abindarraez 

From  the  fond  Xarifa's  arms  ? 

HI. 

"  Yes,  I  hope  neglect  or  falsehood, 

Aught  but  perils,  cause  him  stay ; 
Aught,  save  that  the  prowling  Christians 

Met  him  on  his  midnight  way. 

IV. 

"  'Gainst  their  numbers,  small  assistance 

Sabre,  lance,  or  targe  could  give ; 
Gone  is  gallant  Abindarraez, 

And  Xarifa  will  not  live. 


316  NOTES   ON 

V. 

"  Who  that  loves  would  live  forsaken, 
When  her  valiant  lover  fell '? 

Ne'er  such  tale  of  Moorish  maiden 
Shall  a  Moorish  minstrel  tell." 

VI. 

With  such  plaints  she  toss'd  at  midnight 
On  her  couch  that  knew  not  rest; 

With  such  plaints  by  day  lamented, 
Gazing  from  the  turret's  crest. 

VII. 
Bold  in  love,  the  night  she  fear'd  not, 

Nor  the  solitude  so  drear ; 
And  the  voice  of  tempest  heard  not, 

Howling  in  the  mountains  near. 

VIII. 

Long,  long,  she  kept  her  lofty  station, 
Gazed  in  vain  on  earth  and  sky ; 

And  at  length,  her  hopes  renouncing, 
Left  it  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

IX. 

Then  the  Moorish  lance  gave  signal, 
Striking  thrice  upon  the  gate ; 

And  Xarifa's  trusty  maiden, 
Ooen'd  to  her  lover  straight. 

X. 

0  how  gay  and  gallant  shew'd  he, 
When  he  sought  her  chamber  door, 

In  his  tunic,  loop'd  with  silver, 
Like  a  brave  and  noble  Moor. 

XI. 

With  the  plumage  on  his  turban, 
Gather'd  with  a  golden  check; 

And  his  golden  handled  sabre, 
Hilted  with  an  eagle's  neck. 

XII. 

Thus  stood  gallant  Abindarraez, 
But  for  rapture  naught  could  speak, 

Till  in  broken  exclamations, 
Love  and  joy  a  passage  seek. 


DON   QUIXOTE.  317 

NOTE  XXXI.  p.  53. 

The  twelve  peers  of  France,  nay  the  nine  worthies,  frc.  —  Who 
the  twelve  peers  of  France  were,  every  body  knows.  It  is  not 
quite  so  well  known,  that  the  nine  worthies  in  the  language  of 
romance  (los  nueve  de  la  fama)  were,  three  of  them  Hebrews, 
viz.  Joshua,  David,  and  Judas  Maccabeus ;  three  Gentiles,  viz. 
Hector  of  Troy,  Alexander  of  Macedon,  and  Julius  Caesar ;  and 
three  Christians,  King  Arthur,  Charlemagne,  and  Godfrey  of 
Bouillon.  —  See  Carranzat  F.  255. 

NOTE  XXXH.  p.  54. 

He  had  killed  four  giants  as  big  as  any  steeples,  frc.  — "  The 
beautiful  Brandamante,  and  Aquilante,  and  Grifon,  and  Malgesi, 
encountered  then  those  four  fierce  giants,  who  stood  like  four 
towers  waiting  for  them,"  &c.  —  Espejo,  L.  H.  C.  9. 

NOTE  XXXHI.  p.  54,  55. 

The  sage  Esquife,  —  the  enchantress  Urganda.  —  These  per- 
sonages occur  in  almost  all  the  books  of  the  lineage  of  Amadis. 
We  have  had  occasion  already  to  observe  one  wonderful  cure 
performed  by  Alquife  (corrupted  into  Esquife  by  the  niece  of  Don 
Quixote)  in  the  Amadis  de  Grecia.  Urganda,  witch,  enchant- 
ress, prophetess,  &c.,  &c.,  appears  in  the  original  Amadis  some- 
times in  the  likeness  of  a  young  damsel,  sometimes  as  the  most 
venerable  of  crones ;  but  in  the  later  volumes  of  Esplandian, 
&c.,  she  is  invested  with  all  the  more  serious  terrors  of  a  Medea. 
Her  final  departure  is  very  mysterious ;  whence  her  appellation 
of  la  desconoscida. 

NOTE  XXXIV.  p.  58. 

The  Exploits  of  Esplandian.  —  "El  Eamo  que  de  los  quatre 
libros  de  Amadis  de  Gaula  sale  Hamado  las  Sergas  del  muy  esfor- 
zado  Cavallero  Esplandian  hijo  del  exelente  Rey  Amadis  de 
Gaula,"  Alcala,  1588.  Such  is  the  title-page  of  a  continuation 
of  the  Amadis,  by  one  Garci  Ordonez  de  Montalvo,  who,  having 
edited  the  original  romance,  thought  it  necessary,  it  would  seem, 
invita  Minerva,  to  try  his  hand  at  something  original.  In  the 
preface,  he  pretends  that  the  "  deeds  "  (fpya)  of  Esplandian  had 
been  originally  narrated  in  Greek  "  del  Mano  del  Maestro  Heli- 


318  NOTES   ON 

zabad."  Helizabad  is  frequently  mentioned  by  Cervantes.  He 
was  the  well-employed  surgeon  who  commonly  cured  the  wounds 
of  Amadis  de  Gaul  &c. 

NOTE  XXXV.  p.  58. 

This  is  Amadis  of  Greece,  and  I'm  of  opinion  that  all  those 
that  stand  on  this  side,  are  of  the  same  family,  fyc.  —  The  first 
four  books  of  Amadis  of  Gaul  alone  are  considered  by  Cervan- 
tes as  worthy  of  being  preserved  from  the  flames.  The  other 
twenty  books,  filled  with  the  exploits  of  the  Amadis  family,  were 
for  the  most  part  composed  originally,  not  in  Spanish  or  Portu- 
guese, (like  those  which  Cervantes  preserves,)  but  by  French 
imitators  of  very  inferior  genius.  Vicente  Placcio,  in  his  The- 
atrum  Anonymorum  et  Pseudonymorum,  characterises  the  whole 
collection  as  "  a  most  pernicious  library,  engendered  or  composed 
by  Spanish  fathers,  although  mightily  augmented  by  the  French," 
p.  673,  §2731.  Amadis  of  Greece  occupies  the  ninth  book  of 
the  collection.  He  was  the  son  of  Lisuarte  of  Greece,  who  was 
the  son  of  Amadis  of  Gaul.  The  huge  folio  which  Cervantes 
places  in  his  hero's  library,  was  printed  at  Lisbon  in  1596.  The 
title  runs  thus  :  "  Chronica  del  muy  valiente  y  esforzado  Principe 
y  Cavallero  de  la  ardienta  Espada  Amadis  de  Grecia."  The 
history  is  divided  into  two  parts,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the 
second  there  is  a  notice,  that  "  Esta  Cronica  fue  sacada  de  Grie- 
co  en  Latin  y  de  Latin  en  Romance  segun  lo  escrivio  el  gran 
sabio  Alquife  en  las  Magicas."  The  whole  ends  with  these  words : 
"Aqui  hace  fin  el  noveno  libro  de  Amadis  de  Gaula :  que  es  la 
chronica  del  cavalliero  de  la  ardieute  Espada  Amadis  de  Grecia 
hijo  de  Lisuarte  de  Grecia."  The  Queen  Pintiquiniestra,  and 
the  shepherd  Darinel,  are  both  of  them  personages  that  figure  in 
the  Amadis  de  Grecia.  The  former  is  a  giantess  of  most  formi- 
dable appearance. 

NOTE  XXXVI.  p.  59. 

Ol'mante  de  Laura,  and  the  Garden  of  Flowers. —  Both  the 
stupid  romance  of  Olivante  and  the  Jardin  deflores,  were  pro- 
ductions of  one  Antonio  de  Torquemada.  The  title  of  the  second 
of  them  conveys  no  very  perfect  notion  of  its  character ;  for,  in 
fact,  it  is  nothing  but  one  fearful  mass  of  diablerie,  interspersed 


DON   QUIXOTE.  319 

with  a  few,  probably  more  authentic,  blossoms  of  murder,  rape, 
&c.  Torquemada  was  a  popular  author  in  his  day ;  but  his  po- 
pularity was  not  so  much  founded  on  either  of  the  works  satir- 
ized by  Cervantes,  as  on  his  HEXAMERON,  which  was  translated 
into  French,  soon  after  it  was  written,  by  Chapius.  This  very 
curious  work  consists  of  six  dialogues,  professedly  on  subjects  of 
natural  history  and  physics ;  but  Torquemada  takes  occasion  to 
introduce  in  the  course  of  his  discussions,  an  infinity  of  curious 
stories  and  anecdotes,  which  no  doubt  the  readers  of  his  time 
must  have  found  much  more  interesting  than  his  philosophy : 
For  example,  he  fills  a  great  many  pages  with  the  natural  history 
of  giants,  and,  among  other  things,  tells  us,  he  had  frequently 
seen  with  his  own  eyes  a  well  authenticated  tooth  of  St.  Chris- 
topher, in  the  cathedral  of  Coria ;  and  a  fragment  of  his  jaw- 
bone, in  the  church  of  Astorga.  These  must  have  been  tremen- 
dous relics ;  for  the  philosophic  Torquemada  states,  that  he  had 
made  an  exact  computation,  and  found,  that  if  St.  Christopher 
was  formed-  in  due  proportion,  he  must  have  stood  exactly  as 
tall  as  the  great  tower  of  Segovia.  He  states  also,  that  the  bones 
of  the  Paladins,  preserved  in  the  abbey  of  Roncesvalles,  were 
quite  of  gigantic  dimensions.  In  truth,  Torquemada  seems  to 
have  been  a  fortunate  person,  for  many  are  the  strange 
things  and  persons  he  gravely  tells  us  he  had  seen.  Inter  alia, 
he  speaks  at  much  length  of  a  certain  lady  of  his  acquaintance, 
abbess  of  a  convent  at  Monviedra,  who,  having  lived  on  to  the 
age  of  a  hundred,  with  all  the  appearance  of  other  old  women, 
began  of  a  sudden  to  manifest  many  grateful  symptoms,  exter- 
nal and  internal,  of  returning  youth ;  she  became  to  all  men's 
view,  says  he,  a  comely  young  religieuse  of  eighteen  years  ;  she 
was  excessively  admired,  and  liked  admiration  too ;  but,  he  adds, 
was,  after  a  little  reflection,  somewhat  ashamed  both  of  her  looks 
and  her  sensations,  and  was  never  seen  to  trip  across  the  cloister 
without  holding  a  handkerchief  to  her  face.  She  enjoyed  this 
second  bloom  for  several  merry  years,  and  expired  with  the 
brownest  of  curls,  and  the  brightest  of  eyes,  being  cut  off  by  a 
sudden  and  most  unexpected  access  of  fever,  at  the  age  of  110. 
With  sorcerers  and  magicians  of  the  most  terrific  power,  but  all 
of  them  most  amiably  communicative,  Antonio  de  Torquemada 
appears  to  have  cracked  many  a  bottle.  From  his  accounts  of 
these  personages,  one  would  imagine  them  to  have  been  just  as 


320  NOTES    ON 

fond  of  telling  all  the  horrors  they  had  ever  perpetrated,  as  the 
most  respectable  "  Senor  soldado  de  Carlos  quinto"  could  have 
been  of  fighting  his  battles  over  again. 

NOTE  XXXVII.  p.  59. 

Florismart  of  Hyrcania. — Another  dull  and  affected  folio, 
written  by  "  Melchior  de  Orteza  Caballero  de  Ubeda ; "  and 
printed  at  Valladolid  in  the  year  1566.  The  "  wonderful  birth  " 
of  the  hero  alluded  to  by  the  curate  in  the  text,  is  narrated  at 
great  length  in  the  tenth  chapter  of  the  romance.  His  mother 
was  brought  to  bed  in  a  desert  place,  and  he  saw  the  light  under 
the  auspices  of  a  certain  sage  femme,  by  name  Belsagina.  His 
father's  name  being  Florisan,  (of  Misia,)  and  his  mother's,  Marte- 
dina,  this  dame  suggested  that  the  boy  should  take  part  of  both 
of  these  fine  names,  and  be  called  Florismarte.  The  mother, 
however,  preferred  Felixmarte,  for  reasons  of  which  Mr.  Shandy 
would  have  approved. 

NOTE  XXXVIII.  p.  59. 

The  noble  Don  Platir,  fyc.  —  An  edition  of  "  O  cronico  del 
muy  valiente  y  esforzado  Caballero  Platii*,  hijo  del  Emperador 
Primaleon,"  was  printed  at  Valladolid  in' 1533.  This,  like  most 
of  the  same  sort  of  books,  was  anonymous, 

NOTE  XXXIX.  p.  60. 

The  Knight  of  the  Cross.  —  The  "  Book  of  the  invincible 
knight  Lepolemo,  called  from  his  achievements  the  Knight  of 
the  Cross,"  forms  the  twelfth  part  of  the  Amadis  Library.  The 
"  Chronicle  of  Leandro  the  Beautiful,  as  it  was  composed  by  the 
sage  King  Artidorus,  in  the  Greek  tongue,"  is  the  thirteenth ; 
they  are  both  from  the  pen  of  one  Pedro  de  Luxan.  The  pre- 
liminary fiction  concerning  the  adventures  of  the  Knight  of  the 
Cross,  is,  that  they  were  "originally  written  in  Arabic,  by  a 
Moor  named  Xarton,  at  the  command  of  the  Sultan  Zulema, 
and  translated  into  Castilian  by  a  captive  of  Tunis."  Then  fol- 
low two  dedications,  one  by  Xarton  to  Zulema,  and  another  by 
the  Tunisian  captive,  addressed  to  the  Conde  de  Saldana. 
Luxan  was  author  of  another  work  equally  stupid,  entitled  "  Col- 
loquios  Matrimoniales." 


DOtf   QUIXOTE.  321 

NOTE  XL.  p.  60. 

The  mirror  of  knighthood. — The  "  Espejo  de  Caballerias,"  is 
frequently  alluded  to  by  all  the  Spanish  commentators  on  Cer- 
vantes. It  is  a  huge  collection  of  all  manner  of  romantic  stories, 
in  four  parts,  formed  by  as  many  different  writers.  The  first 
part  (which  is  alluded  to  in  the  text)  appeared  in  1562,  and  was 
dedicated  by  its  author,  Diego  Ordonez  de  Calahorra,  to  Martin 
Cortes,  son  of  the  great  Hernan  Cortes. 

NOTE  XLI.  p.  60. 

The  twelve  peers  of  France,  and  that  faithful  historian  Tur- 
pin, &TC.  — The  achievements  of  the  twelve  peers  fill  a  mighty 
proportion  of  the  Espejo  de  Caballerias,  and,  of  course,  the 
venerable  Turpin  is  throughout  cited  as  the  most  unquestioned 
of  authorities.  Thus,  in  P.  1.  C.  1.  we  are  informed,  that  "  En 
las  Historias  Antiguas  de  Francia  una  mas  verdadera  por  mano 
de  Arzobizbo  Don  Turpin  se  halla."  Such  is  the  character  uni- 
formly given  of  Turpin  by  the  grateful  bards,  who,  as  Cervantes 
expresses  it,  "  spun  their  webs  "  out  of  his  history.  In  Boiardo, 
Pulci,  Ariosto,  one  meets  at  every  turn, 

"  Turpin  che  mai  non  mente  in  alcun  loco" — 

The  absurd  chronicle  attributed  to  Turpin  (or  Tilpin)  seems  to 
have  been  composed  in  Latin,  about  the  end  of  the  llth,  or  be- 
ginning of  the  12th  century,  but  owed  much  of  its  celebrity  to 
the  innumerable  versions  and  paraphrases  of  it,  which  soon  after 
began  to  make  their  appearance  —  first  in  French,  and  then  in 
Spanish,  English,  and  all  the  other  vulgar  dialects.  The  ori- 
ginal work  itself  was  first  printed  in  a  collection,  entitled  "  Ger- 
manicartim  Rerum  quatuor  chronographi."  Frankfort,  1566, 
folio.  Stories  of  miracles,  relics,  churches  founded,  conversions, 
&c.,  &c.,  fill  the  far  greater  part  of  the  monkish  chronicle  ;  but 
from  the  absurd  thread  of  fiction  concerning  Charlemagne,  on 
which  these  monastic  pearls  are  strung,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  almost  the  whole  web  of  the  second  great  class  of  romances 
was  spun.  Those  who  wish  to  see  what  are  the  most  plausible 
conjectures  that  have  been  formed,  concerning  the  origin  of  all 
these  extraordinary  falsifications  of  the  splendid  history  of  the 
vor,.  I.  21 


322  NOTES   ON 

great  Frankish  Emperor,  may  be  referred  to  Warton,  Ellis,  Ley- 
den,  and  Schlegel.  The  opinions  of  these  critics  are  so  differ- 
ent, and  the  details,  without  which  these  opinions  would  be  unin- 
telligible, so  extensive,  that  it  would  be  useless  and  absurd  to 
attempt  giving  any  account  of  this  "  great  controversy,"  in  the 
shape  of  a  note  upon  Don  Quixote.  As  to  the  extent  of  these 
falsifications  themselves,  a  tolerable  guess  may  be  formed  from 
the  initiatory  lines  of  ROLAND  AND  FERUAGUS,  a  romance  ex- 
tant in  the  Auchinleck  MS.,  which,  so  far  as  it  goes,  presents  a 
pretty  faithful  compendium  of  Turpin's  original  Magnum  Opus. 

"An  hundred  years  it  was  and  tiiree, 
Sithan  God  deed  upon  the  tree, 

That  Charles  the  king 
Had  all  France  in  his  hand, 
Denmark  and  England, 

Withouten  any  losing: 
Lorraine  and  Lombardie, 
Gascoyne,  Bayonne,  and  Picardie, 

Was  still  his  bidding;  , 

And  Emperor  he  was  of  Rome, 
And  Lord  of  all  Christendom, 

Then  was  he  a  high  lording." 

NOTE  XLLL  p.  60. 

"  /  have  Mm  at  home  in  Italian"  said  the.  barber ;  "  but  I  can't 
understand  him"  "It  is  no  great  matter"  replied  the  curate,  Sfc. 
Jarvis  supposes,  from  the  style  of  the  conversation  here,  that 
Cervantes  had  no  great  relish  for  Ariosto.  But  Pellicer  very 
justly  laughs  at  Jarvis  for  this  remark.  The  curate's  contempt 
is  evidently  not  of  Ariosto,  (whose  "  graces  "  he  has  just  been 
praising,)  but  of  the  poor  barber,  whom  he  does  not  think  capa- 
ble of  reading,  or  at  least  of  relishing,  any  thing  so  beautiful  as 
the  Orlando  Furioso.  Don  Geronimo  Ximenes  de  Urrea  is  the 
"  good  captain,"  whose  Spanish  version  of  the  Orlando,  Cervan- 
tes in  the  next  sentence  satirizes.  Don  Diego  de  Mendoza  is 
equally  severe  upon  this  gallant  translator.  "  He  hath  gained," 
quoth  Mendoza,  "  not  only  fame,  but,  what  is  much  better,  many 
a  good  dinner  by  translating  the  Orlando  Furioso  ;  i.  e.  by  hav- 
ing said,  "  Cavalleros  for  cavaglieri,  armas  for  arme,  amores  for 
amori."  He  adds,  "Puez  de  esla  arte  yo  me  haria,  mas  libros  que 


DON   QUIXOTE.  323 

kizo  Matuzalen"    But  perhaps,  after  all,  even  that  might  be  no 
very  laborious  undertaking. 

NOTE  XLIH.  p.  61. 

Bernardo  de  Carpio,  ice.  — This  condemned  book  is  a  long  and 
dull  poem  on  the  exploits  of  the  Hero,  of  whom  enough  has  al- 
ready been  said,  written  in  the  rima  ottava,  and  published  at 
Toledo  in  1585.  The  author's  name  was  Augustin  Alonzo. 

NOTE  XLIV.  p.  61. 

Palmerin  de  Oliva  —  Palmerin  of  England.  —  "  Libro  del  fa- 
moso  Caballero  Palmerin  de  Oliva  que  por  el  mundo  grandea 
hechos  en  annas  hizo,  sin  saber  cuyo  hijo  fuese.  Toledo,  1580." 
It  was  probably  this  edition  of  this  well  known  romance  that 
figured  in  Don  Quixote's  library.  The  hero,  the  secretly  pro- 
duced offspring  of  Angricona,  daughter  to  the  emperor  of  Con- 
stantinople, is  carried  off  as  soon  as  he  is  born,  and  concealed 
beneath  a  palm  tree  on  the  Mount  of  Olives.  He  is  there  dis- 
covered by  a  rustic,  who  names  him  from  the  place  where  he  is 
found.  As  to  the  very  superior  romance  of  Palmerin  of  Eng- 
land, the  reader  is  once  more  referred  to  Mr.  Southey's  admi- 
rable abridgment.  I  may  mention,  however,  in  passing,  that  the 
royal  parentage  of  that  fine  romance,  although  Cervantes  would 
seem  to  have  believed  in  it,  is  much  more  than  doubtful ;  and 
that  it  is  even  far  from  being  certain,  that  Sir  Pabnerin  made  his 
first  appearance  in  the  language  of  Portugal. 

NOTE  XLV.  p.  62. 

Don  Belianis,  and  his  castle  of  fame.  — "  There  appeared  a 
castle  as  beautiful  and  as  rich  as  ever  mortal  beheld.  It  was  so 
large,  that  with  ease  one  might  imagine  two  thousand  knights  to 
be  its  garrison,  and  it  was  drawn  along  by  forty  elephants  of  in- 
credible hugeness.  From  this  castle  there  came  forth  nine 
knights,  each  one  having  painted  on  his  shield  the  image  of 
Fame,  by  which  device  they  signified  that  they  were  the  Knights 
of  Fame."  —  Belianis,  1.  iii.  c.  19. 

NOTE  XL VI.  p.  62. 
Tirante  the  White.  — The  hero  of  this  fine  old  romance  (for 


324  NOTES   ON 

Cervantes  is  far  too  severe  on  its  merits)  derives  his  name  partly 
from  his  father,  partly  from  his  mother ;  the  former  being  "  Lord 
of  the  Seigniory  of  Tirania,  on  the  borders  of  England,"  the 
latter,  Blanca,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Brittany.  The  common 
opinion  is,  that  this  romance  was  originally  composed  in  the  Va- 
lencian  dialect  about  the  year  1460.  The  Dons  Kyrie-elcison, 
(i.  e.  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,)  and  Thomas  of  Montalban,  the 
Knight  Fonseca,  &c.,  are  personages  who  appear  in  the  story  of 
Tirant  lo  Blanch.  The  most  interesting  of  them  all,  are  the  em- 
press and  her  lover,  the  gentleman-usher  Hippolyto.  To  please 
her  swain,  the  empress  sings  to  him  on  one  occasion,  "  Un  ro- 
mance de  Tristan  co  se  planya  de  la  lancada  del  Rey  March." 
"A  song  of  Tristram,  in  which  he  laments  over  a  blow  he  had 
received  from  the  lance  of  King  Mark."  This  song  is  represented 
to  have  excessively  moved  the  tender-hearted  gentleman-usher ; 
insomuch,  that  "Ab  la  dol<;or  del  cant  destillaren  dels  seus  ulls 
vives  lagremes." — (Cap.  264.)  The  first  edition  of  Tirant  was 
published  at  Valencia  in  1490.  A  Castilian  version  appeared  at 
Valladolid  in  1511  ;  and  from  this  was  executed  the  Italian  trans- 
lation of  Lelio  Manfredi,  which  was  printed  at  Venice  in  1538. 
Detirante,  a  few  lines  lower  in  the  text,  is  a  misprint  for  Tirante, 
which  seems  to  have  passed  from  edition  to  edition,  ever  since 
Don  Quixote  was  first  published. 

NOTE  XLVH.  p.  63,  64. 

The  Dianas  of  Montemayor  —  Salmantino,  Gil  Polo,  fyc. — 
Cervantes  does  not  seem  to  have  been  aware,  that  the  Diana, 
who  gives  name  to  the  celebrated  performance  of  Jorge  de  Mon- 
temayor, was  a  real  personage.  Pellicer,  however,  has  collected 
abundant  evidence  that  such  was  the  fact ;  inter  alia,  he  cites 
from  a  MS.,  in  the  Royal  Library  at  Madrid,  a  passage  which  I 
shall  translate  literatim,  because  the  story  it  tells  is  in  itself  in- 
teresting. [The  writer  is  the  same  Father  Sapolveda,  with 
whose  printed  works  all  are  acquainted.]  "  When  the  sove- 
reigns, Don  Philip  III.  and  Donna  Margarita,  were  on  their  way 
back  from  Portugal,  in  1602.  they  halted  for  a  night  in  the  city 
of  Valencia,  and  their  host  there  was  the  Marquis  de  las  Navas, 
and  they  were  also  entertained  by  that  famous  woman  DIANA, 
whom  George  de  Montemayor  so  greatly  commends  and  cele- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  325 

brates  in  his  history  and  verses ;  for,  though  very  old,  this 
Diana  is  still  alive,  and  they  say,  whoever  visits  her  may  discover 
plainly,  that  in  her  youth  she  must  have  been  exceedingly  beau- 
tiful. She  is  the  most  wealthy  and  rich  person  in  the  town. 
But  it  was  on  account  of  her  being  so  famous,  and  of  the  praises 
of  George  de  Montemayor,  that  the  sovereigns  and  all  their 
court  repaired  to  the  house  of  this  woman,  being  desirous  to  see 
her  as  a  thing  worthy  of  wonder  and  admiration.  And,  indeed, 
«he  is  a  very  sensible  and  well-spoken  woman."  Lope  de  Vega 
also  alludes  to  the  real  Diana,  in  his  Dorotea,  p.  52. 

Montemayor  himself  was  not  distinguished  by  his  writings 
alone ;  for  he  was  both  a  great  musician  and  a  gallant  soldier. 
His  Diana  was  the  most  popular  work  of  its  day,  and  gave  rise 
to  as  many  Dianas,  as  Lord  Byron's  Harold,  in  our  own  time, 
has  to  Childes.  Gil  Polo,  whom  Cervantes  rather  commends, 
wrote  a  professed  continuation  of  the  original  performance  of 
Montemayor,  which  has  been  reprinted  in  Madrid  so  lately  as 
1778.  M.  Florian  ventures,  in  spite  of  the  authority  of  Cervan- 
tes, to  express  a  great  contempt  for  Gil  Polo  ;  but  Pellicer,  more 
likely  to  be  a  good  judge,  talks  of  him  as  "  Insigne  Poeta  Valen- 
ciano."  The  second  Diana,  that  of  Alonzo  Perez,  a  physician 
of  Salamanca,  (the  Salmantino  of  the  text,)  was  published  at 
Alcala  in  1564.  For  very  elegant  abstracts  of  all  these  pasto- 
rals, see  Mr.  Dunlop's  History  of  Fiction. 


NOTE  XLVm.  p.  64. 

Ten  Books  of  the  Fortunes  of  Love,  by  Anthony  de  Lofraco, 
§*c.  —  The  true  name  of  this  author  was  Antonio  de  lo  Frasso. 
He  was  a  native  of  Llaguer,  a  town  in  Sardinia,  but  wrote  good 
Castilian.  His  work,  entitled  "Los  diez  libros  de  Fortuna 
d'Amor,  donde  hallaran  los  honestos  y  apacibles  amores  del  pas- 
tor Frexano  et  de  la  hermosa  pastora  Fortuna,"  was  published 
at  Barcelona  by  one  Pedro  Malo,  in  1573.  It  is  a  pastoral,  writ- 
ten partly  in  prose,  partly  in  verse,  like  its  prototype  (the  Diana.) 
There  is  every  reason  for  thinking  that  Cervantes  by  no  means 
intended  to  identify  himself  with  the  curate  as  to  the  opinion 
expressed  concerning  this  work.  Nevertheless,  entirely  on  the 
strength  of  such  an  idea,  an  edition  of  these  wretched  "  diez  li- 
bros de  fortuna  "  was  actually  printed  in  London,  not  a  great 


326  NOTES   ON 

many  years  ago,  under  the  auspices  of  Pineda,  the  lexicographer, 
of  course  without  the  smallest  success.  The  other  pastoral  pro- 
ductions mentioned  in  the  text  are  all  utterly  contemptible,  with 
the  exception  of  the  Shepherd  of  Filida,  which  Lope  de  Vega 
praises  in  his  Dorotea,  (p.  52,)  asserting,  that  its  authcr  also,  like 
Montemayor,  had  been  inspired  by  the  charms  of  a  real  mis- 
tress. This  book  appeared  in  1582.  It  was  written  by  Luis  Gal- 
vez  de  Montalvo,  who  is  designed  as  "  Criado  de  Don  Enrique 
de  Mendoza  y  Aragon,  nieto  de  los  Duques  del  Infantado." 

NOTE  XLIX.  p.  65. 

The  treasure  of  divers  poems.  — This  is  a  collection  of  the  same 
class  with  the  Sylvce,  Delicice,  frc.,  formed  by  Don  Pedro  Padilla, 
a  gentleman  who,  after  spending  an  active  life  in  military  ser- 
vice, assumed  in  his  latter  days  the  garb  of  a  Carmelite  Friar, 
and  died  in  that  sanctified,  and,  as  he  probably  thought,  all-aton- 
ing garb,  at  Madrid,  in  1595.  Gayton,  in  his  "Festive  Notes," 
talks  boldly  of  this  book,  as  if  it  had  been  a  dictionary,  and  as 
if  he  had  himself  turned  over  its  leaves.  He  had  evidently  not 
imagined  there  could  be  any  Thesauri,  except  of  the  same  class 
with  his  Stephanus. 

NOTE  L.  p.  65. 

Lopez  Maldonado.  —  "  The  Concionero,  o  Coleccion  de  varias 
poesias"  of  this  author,  was  first  published  by  Droy,  in  Madrid, 
in  1586,  in  quarto. 

NOTE  LI.  p.  65. 
The  Galatea  of  Cervantes. —  See  Life  of  Cervantes. 

NOTE  LU.  p.  66. 

The  Tears  of  Angelica.  — The  author  so  highly  commended 
by  Cervantes,  is  Luis  Baratrona  de  Soto,  who,  like  Cervantes 
himself,  was  a  soldier  as  well  as  a  poet.  Nay,  Baratrona  was  a 
physician  to  boot.  His  " Lagremas  de  Angelica"  in  12  cantos, 
appeared  in  1586. 

NOTE  LIE.  p.  67. 

The  Carolea  and  Leon  of  Spain.  Don  Louis  de  Avila,  frc. — 
The  Carolea  is  a  poem  treating  of  the  victories  of  Charles  V., 


DON   QUIXOTE.  327 

printed  in  Valencia  in  1560.  Its  author  was  Geronimo  de  San 
Pedro,  or  Sempere.  The  Leon  de  Espana  is  a  poem  in  twenty- 
nine  cantos,  treating  of  the  martial  glories  of  the  Leoneze.  It 
was  written  by  Pedro  de  la  Vecilla,  and  published  at  Salamanca 
in  1586.  Pellicer  contends  that  Cervantes  is  wrong  in  attribut- 
ing "  the  deeds  of  the  Emperor  "  to  Don  Lewis  d'Avila ;  and  is 
at  great  pains  to  convince  us  that  he  must  have  meant  Don  Lewis 
Zapata.  Avila  was  author  of  the  Guerra  de  Almania,  and  there- 
fore entitled  to  be  talked  of  as  having  celebrated  "  the  deeds  of 
the  Emperor ; "  but  Zapata's  work,  on  the  other  hand,  bore  the 
very  title  of  "  Hechos  del  Emperador."  The  same  person  pub- 
lished a  long  poem  on  the  same  subject,  the  Carlo  Famoso ;  of 
which  he  himself  relates  that  it  cost  him  4000  maravedis  to  print 
it,  and  that  he  had  no  return  whatever,  but  what  he  calls  the 
"  alongamiento  de  mi  voluntad  "  —  a  species  of  profit  with  which 
Don  Lewis  Zapata  professes  himself  to  have  been  by  no  means 
satisfied. 

NOTE  LIV.  p.  70. 

The  Enchanter  Freston.  —  This  personage  figures  in  many  ter- 
rible scenes  of  the  Belianis. 

NOTE  LV.  p.  77. 

Diego  Perez  de  Vargas.  — The  name  of  this  Castilian  gentle- 
man occurs  frequently  both  in  the  ballads  and  other  records  of 
the  Moorish  wars.  He  acquired,  or  was  said  to  have  acquired, 
the  name  of  Machuca  (i.  e.  Bruiser,  or  Pounder,)  from  an  inci- 
dent which  I  find  related  as  follows  in  one  of  the  ballads  pub- 
lished by  Sepulveda. 

MACHUCA 

I. 

The  Christians  have  beleaguer'ci  the  famous  walls  of  Xeres, 
Among  them  are  Don  Alvar  and  Don  Diego  Perez, 
And  many  other  gentlemen,  who,  day  succeeding  day, 
Gave  challenge  to  the  Saracen  and  all  his  chivalry. 

n. 

When  rages  the  hot  battle  before  the  gates  of  Xeres, 

By  trace  of  gore  ye  may  explore  the  dauntless  path  of  Perez. 


328  NOTES   ON 

No  knight  like  Don  Diego  — no  sword  like  his  is  found 
In  all  the  host,  to  hew  the  boast  of  Paynims  to  the  ground. 

m. 

It  fell  one  day  when  furiously  they  battled  on  the  plain, 
Diego  shivered  both  his  lance  and  trusty  blade  in  twain; 
The  Moors  that  saw  it  shouted,  for  esquire  none  was  near, 
To  serve  Diego  at  his  need  with  faulchion,  mace,  or  spear. 

IV. 

Loud,  loud,  he  blew  his  bugle,  sore  troubled  was  his  eye, 
But  by  God's  grace,  before  his  face  there  stood  a  tree  full  nigh, 
A  comely  tree  with  branches  strong,  close  by  the  wall  of  Xeres  — 
"  Yon  goodly  bough  will  serve,  I  trow,"  quoth  Don  Diego  Perez. 

V. 

A  gnarled  branch  he  soon  did  wrench  down  from  that  olive  strong, 
Which  o'er  his  head  piece  brandishing,  he  spurs  among  the  throng. 
God  wot !  full  many  a  Pagan  must  in  his  saddle  reel ! — 
What  leech  shall  cure,  what  priest  shall  shrive,  if  once  that  weight 
ye  feel? 

VI. 

But  when  Don  Alvar  saw  him  thus  bruising  down  the  foe, 
Quoth  he,  "  I've  seen  some  flail-arm'd  man  belabour  barley  so! 
Sure  mortal  mould  did  ne'er  enfold  such  mastery  of  power; 
Let's  call  Diego  Perez  MACHUCA  from  this  hour." 


NOTE  LVI.  p.  78. 

A  knight-errant  must  never  complain  of  his  wounds,  although 
his  bowels  were  dropping  out  through  them,  §~c.  — The  Don's  doc- 
trine is  here,  as  it  generally  is,  quite  correct.  Marquez,  in  re- 
counting the  statutes  of  the  order  de  la  Banda,  (an  order  insti- 
tuted by  Alphonzo  XI.,)  says,  its  ninth  law  was  "  Que  ningun 
caballoro  se  quexasse  de  alguna  herida  que  tuviesse."  F.  50. 

NOTE  LVII.  p.  81. 

They  wore  riding  masks,  with  glasses  at  the  eyes,  $r. — The 
Benedictines  being  the  most  wealthy  order  of  religious  in  Spain, 
at  the  period  when  Cervantes  wrote,  furnished,  of  course,  the 
most  common  subjects  for  this  species  of  satire ;  but  it  should 


DON    QUIXOTE.  329 

never  he  forgotten,  that,  unlike  many  of  their  brethren,  the 
Benedictines  were,  in  general,  bo.th  the  followers  and  the  liberal 
patrons  of  literature.  The  princely  style  of  their  literary  specu- 
lations—  their  edition  of  the  French  historians,  &c.,  &c.,  will  be 
sufficient  to  preserve  their  memory  in  honor,  even  should  they 
be  deprived  in  Spain,  as  they  have  been  elsewhere,  of  all  their 
great  possessions.  They  have  still  many  magnificent  establish- 
ments of  education  under  their  control  at  Vienna,  Ratisbone, 
and  other  places  of  the  Austrian  dominion. 

NOTE  LVHL  p.  84. 

Bad  Biscayan  and  worse  Spanish.  — To  understand  fully  the 
frequent  allusions  which  Cervantes  makes  to  the  provincial  dia- 
lects in  Spain,  one  must  of  course  be  a  Spaniard,  and  a  learned 
Spaniard  to  boot.  In  general,  it  may  be  sufficient  to  observe, 
that  the  Latin  language  was  gradually  corrupted  all  over  the 
peninsula,  after  the  invasion  of  the  Goths ;  and  that  out  of  this 
corruption  three  main  dialects  were  by  degrees  formed.  One  of 
these,  the  Catalonian,  (for  the  Valencian  was  nearly  the  same 
thing,)  partook  very  much  of  the  character  of  that  spoken  all 
over  Provence,  and  the  southern  districts  of  France.  In  it 
several  books  were  written,  (particularly  the  fine  romance  of 
Tyrant  lo  Blanch,)  but  like  the  sister  Provencal,  the  soft  and 
beautiful  language  of  the  Troubadours,  it  never  received  the  last 
finish  of  cultivation.  In  Portugal  and  Gah'cia,  a  second  dialect 
was  formed,  which  the  Oastilians  complain  of  as  being  effeminate 
in  comparison  with  their  own,  but  which  can  never  perish,  since 
the  Lusiad  has  been  written  in  it.  The  Castilian,  finally,  (the 
third  great  branch,)  is  much  more  near  of  kin  to  the  Portuguese 
than  to  the  Catalonian,  and  bears  the  same  sort  of  relation  to  it 
which  the  Swedish  does  to  the  Danish,  or  which  the  English 
(but  for  political  events)  might  have  done  to  the  Scotch.  All 
the  other  provinces  of  the  peninsula,  except  Portugal,  being  by 
degrees  consolidated  into  one  empire  under  a  Castilian  dynasty, 
the  language  of  the  court  became  the  language  of  Spain — as 
the  modern  High-Dutch  has  supplanted,  under  somewhat  differ- 
ent circumstances,  the  multifarious  dialects  of  Germany.  The 
Castilian,  however,  did  not  assume  this  preeminence  until  about 
the  middle  of  the  16th  century. 


330  NOTES   ON 

The  language  of  the  original  inhabitants  of  Spain,  previous  to 
the  Carthaginian  and  Roman  conquests,  found  early  and  secure 
refuge  among  the  Pyrenees,  and  in  the  mountainous  province  of 
Spanish  Biscay.  It  is  undoubtedly  a  Celtic  dialect,  of  the  same 
parentage  with  those  which  still  survive  in  Wales,  Brittany,  Ire- 
land, and  the  Highlands  of  Scotland.  It  never  altered  its  main 
characteristics,  nor  borrowed  any  thing  more  than  vocables  from 
the  language  of  any  of  the  nations  who  successively  conquered 
the  peninsula.  The  Spanish  spoken  by  the  Biscayan  in  the  text 
of  Cervantes,  is  therefore  about  the  same  sort  of  thing  with  the 
English  spoken  by  the  Highland  personages  who  figure  in  Wa- 
verley,  the  Legend  ofMontrose,  Sfc. 

NOTE  LIX.  p.  84. 

I'll  try  titles  with  you,  as  the  man  said.  —  The  original  is, 
"Aora  lo  veredes  dixo  Agrajes." —  Agrajes  is  one  of  the  cham- 
pions who  figure  in  the  Amadis,  and  one  of  the  most  quarrelsome 
of  them  all.  This  phrase,  part  of  which  is  always  in  his  mouth 
at  the  beginning  of  a  fray,  seems  to  have  been  passed  into  a 
sort  of  by-word ;  for  it  occurs  just  in  the  same  sort  of  way  in 
Quevedo's  visions,  &c. 

NOTE  LX.  p.  89. 

A  Morisco  that  understood  Spanish,  Sfc.  —  In  the  original, 
"  Morisco  Aljamiado."  Aljamia  (from  Aljama,  a  frontier,')  was 
a  term  applied  by  the  pure  Arabs  to  denote  the  corrupted  lan- 
guage of  the  Moors  long  settled  in  Spain.  In  one  of  the  old 
ballads,  a  Moor,  who  communicates  to  the  Cid  a  certain  plot  that 
is  going  on  against  him,  is  styled  "  Moro  Latinado."  How  much 
the  two  languages  must  have  been  mingled  in  the  elder  times, 
may  easily  be  imagined,  when  we  remember  that  there  are  still 
oxtant  several  papal  rescripts  directed  against  the  use  of  the 
Arabic  language  by  the  Spanish  Christians ;  that,  in  spite  of  all 
these,  it  was  found  necessary,  after  some  space,  to  translate  the 
common  devotional  books  of  the  Christian  religion  into  Arabic 
for  their  use ;  and  that,  at  Cordova,  the  Gothic  laws  rendered 
into  Arabic,  were  appealed  to  in  the  courts  of  justice,  whenever 
the  parties  were  Christians.  (See  MURPHY'S  Moors  in  Spain, 
and  BONTERWECK'S  Geschichte  der  Spanisches  Literatur.)  Cer- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  331 

vantes  adheres  closely  to  the  romances  which  he  designs  to  satir- 
ize in  all  this  fiction  about  the  discovery  and  translation  of  the 
history  of  this  Don.  The  Amadis  de  Gaul,  the  Belianis,  &c.,  &c., 
are  all  represented  as  having  been  originally  composed  in  the 
Greek  tongue  by  "  the  Saga  Alquife,"  Friston,  Artemidorus, 
Lirgandeus,  and  the  like  learned  personages.  The  origin  of  all 
romantic  adventures  was,  in  the  eye  of  Cervantes'  contempo- 
raries, Moorish,  and  therefore  he  takes  a  Moor  in  place  of  a 
Greek.  The  Spanish  commentators,  finally,  have  discovered 
that  Cid  Harriet  Ben  Engeli,  is,  after  all,  no  more  than  an  Ara- 
bian version  of  the  name  of  Cervantes  himself.  Cid,  as  all  the 
world  knows,  means  lord  or  signior.  Harriet  is  a  common  Moor- 
ish prefix.  Ben  Engeli  signifies  the  son  of  a  stag,  which,  being 
expressed  in  Spanish,  is  hijo  del  ciervo,  cerval,  or  cervanteno.  It 
is  said  in  p.  91,  that  this  Morisco  translated  the  whole  of  Ben 
Engeli's  MS.  in  less  than  six  weeks ;  but  this  is  nothing  to  Shel- 
ton,  the  first  English  translator  of  Cervantes,  (and  perhaps  in 
some  respects  the  best,)  who  says,  in  his  preface,  that  he  finished 
his  version  in  forty  successive  days. 

.  NOTE  LXI.  p.  96. 

The  holy  brotherhood.  — The  reader  of  modern  romances  may 
at  first  sight  imagine  that  the  Inquisition  is  meant,  but  it  is  not 
so.  The  terror  with  which  the  words,  "  holy  office,"  on  all  oc- 
casions inspire  honest  Sancho,  was  indeed  felt,  at  the  time  of  his 
supposed  existence,  by  every  man,  woman,  and  child,  within  the 
Spanish  dominions.  Under  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  the  injunc- 
tions of  the  papal  bulls  for  the  establishment  of  inquisitions, 
were  first  carried  into  full  effect  in  Castile,  and  afterwards  in 
Arragon.  Ximenes,  Torquemada,  and  a  long  series  of  artful 
bigots,  effectually  riveted  the  chain ;  and  the  delicacy  observed 
by  Cervantes  himself,  in  all  his  allusions  to  the  functionaries  and 
functions  of  the  holy  office,  is  one  of  the  most  striking  proofs  of 
the  extent  to  which  this  spiritual  tyranny  had,  in  the  course  of 
less  than  a  century,  bowed  down  all  Spanish  thought  and  lan- 
guage beneath  its  sway.  In  the  most  of  the  Spanish  historians, 
I  find  the  establishment  of  the  Inquisition  spoken  of  in  terms  of 
most  hypocritical  adulation.  In  Mariana,  however,  although  the 
Jesuit  (himself  at  one  time  an  Inquisitor)  by  no  means  says  all 


332  NOTES   ON 

he  thinks,  enough  is  said  to  let  us  understand  something  of  hia 
true  sentiments.  The  plain  and  obvious  arguments  against  a 
secret,  a  bloody,  and  a  bigoted  tribunal,  are  set  forth  very  pow- 
erfully, and  he  has  tact  enough  to  manage  it  so,  that  the  effect 
of  these  is  not  at  all  done  away  by  the  pompous  arguments  he, 
as  in  his  own  person,  is  compelled  to  adduce  per  contra.  See 
Mariana's  whole  chapter,  entitled  "  Inquisitores  Castellae  dati;" 
and  particularly  the  passage  beginning,  "  Grave  provincialibus 
visum  est  Parentum  Scelera  filiorum  paenis  lui ;  occulto  accusa- 
tore  reos  fieri ;  neque  cum  indice  compositos  damnari ;  contra 
quam  olim  factum  erat  peccata  in  religione  vindicari  morte ;  illud 
gravissimum  adimi  per  inquisitiones  loquendi  liberi  audiendique 
commercium  dispersis  per  urbes  et  oppida  et  agros  observatoribus 
quod  extremum  in  servitute  crcdebant"  fyc.  For  a  full  account 
of  the  Spanish  Inquisition,  see  Llorente's  Histoire  de  I' Inquisition- 
en  Espagne  ;  a  masterly  and  very  learned  article  by  Mr.  Sou- 
they,  in  the  Quarterly  Review;  and  an  able  essay  under  the 
head  of  INQUISITION,  lately  published  in  the  Encyclopaedia 
Edinensis,  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  John  Hodgson,  of  Blantyre.  The 
"  Holy  Brotherhood,"  alluded  to  on  the  present  occasion,  was  a 
very  necessary  and  useful  association  for  the  prevention  of  rob- 
beries and  murders  in  the  less  populous  districts  of  Spain.  The 
state  in  which  the  country  had  been  left,  after  a  long  series  of 
wars  and  tumults,  rendered  it  necessary  for  well-disposed  indivi- 
duals to  take  such  steps  in  aid  of  the  (in  such  matters)  too  dila- 
tory arm  of  the  Spanish  executive.  Shortly  afterwards,  Cervan- 
tes mentions  the  "  Santa  Hermandad  vieja"  of  Toledo,  which 
was  a  particular  branch  of  this  institution,  having  its  separate 
prison,  &c. 

NOTE  LXII.  p.  96. 

Out  of  the  hands  of  the  Chaldeans.  —  So  the  Moors  were  fre- 
quently called  by  the  early  Spaniards,  whose  archaic  phraseo- 
logy is  continually  in  the  mouth  of  Don  Quixote. 

NOTE  LXIII.  p.  97. 

Had  I  but  bethought  myself  of  making  a  small  bottleful  of  the 
balsam  of  Fierabras,  fyc.  —  Sir  Ferumbras  or  Fierabras,  was  one 
of  the  greatest  heroes  of  the  Round-table  of  Charlemagne,  al- 


DON   QUIXOTE.  333 

though  he  has  not  the  advantage  of  being  commemorated  in  the 
original  Magnum  Opus  of  the  Archbishop  of  Kheims.  Mr.  El- 
lis has  given  an  analysis  of  an  English  imprinted  metrical  ro- 
mance upon  his  story,  which  appears  to  be  nothing  more  than  a 
translation  from  the  French  one.  According  to  all  these  author- 
ities, LABAN,  Sovereign  of  Babylon,  possessor  of  the  renowned 
city  of  Agramore,  on  the  River  Flagote,  was  a  sore  enemy  of 
the  Christians,  and  drove  them  out  of  the  Holy  Land.  Not  con- 
tented with  this,  he  sent  his  son  Sir  Ferumbras,  after  the  poor 
Christians  into  Europe,  where  Ferumbras  demeaned  himself  like 
a  true  son  of  the  terrible  Laban,  and,  among  other  well-authen- 
ticated exploits,  took  possession  of  ROME  itself.  Charlemagne 
forthwith  send*  some  of  his  paladins  to  give  knightly  combat  to 
this  fearful  Saracen,  and  a  long  series  of  romantic  adventures 
ensues,  in  which  dwarfs,  giants,  cavaliers,  virgins,  Moors,  priests, 
and  enchanters,  walk  through  their  usual  paces,  all  more  or  less 
for  the  exaltation  of  the  glory  of  Sir  Ferumbras,  the  Prince- 
Royal  of  Babylon.  At  last,  however,  OLIVER  meets  with  the 
hero,  and  then  the  tables  are  turned.  The  combat  is  long  and 
doubtful,  chiefly  in  consequence  of  two  bottles  of  balsam  which 
Ferumbras  carries,  (in  his  holsters,)  a  simple  drop  of  which, 
taken  internally,  is  sufficient  to  restore  the  continuity  of  the 
most  cruelly  mangled  skin ;  of  which  Sir  Ferumbras  of  course 
avails  himself  on  the  receipt  of  every  blow ;  and,  more  wonder- 
ful far,  of  which  he  constantly  offers  a  few  drops  to  his  antago- 
nist, every  time  he  sees  his  own  sword  come  back  bloody  from 
the  body  on  which  he  is  exercising  its  edge  with  all  the  accus- 
tomed fury  of  a  Babylonian.  In  the  Carlo  Magno,  we  have 
him  introduced  upon  this  occasion  as  using  these  expressions, 
"  0  Senor  Olivero,  O  vos  bolved  a  curer  de  vos  llagas,  o  beved 
del  balsamo  que  commego  trago,  y  luego  serez  salvo,  y  assi  po- 
dreys  pelear  y  defendar  vuestra  vida,"  &c.  Instead  of  accepting 
this  polite  offer,  the  fierce  Oliver  aims  a  back  blow  at  Sir  Ferum- 
bras's  saddle,  the  two  bottles  tumble  into  a  river,  and  the  pa<*an 
is  then  as  easily  beaten  as  Antaeus  was,  when  Hercules  lifted  him 
off  the  ground.  In  a  word,  the  son  of  Laban,  the  Emperor  of 
Babylon,  gives  in.  "  I  am  so  hurt,"  says  he,  (to  give  the  words 
of  the  English  romance,) 

"  I  am  so  hurt,  I  may  not  stonde ; 
I  put  me  all  in  thy  grace ; 


334  NOTES    ON 

My  God's  beene  false  by  water  and  lond; 
I  reng  them  all  here  in  this  place ; 
Baptized  now  will  I  bene,"  &c. 

The  baptized  Ferumbras  is  forthwith  created  a  paladin  and  a 
peer,  and  heads  on  all  occasions  the  host  of  Charlemagne.  His 
father  hearing  of  his  sudden  conversion,  immediately  brings  a 
huge  army  to  fight  Charlemagne  and  his  son  ;  but,  as  might  be 
expected,  they  overcome  him,  and  it  is  only  by  the  intercession 
of  Ferumbras  that  the  head  of  the  Emperor  Laban  is  permitted 
to  remain  upon  his  royal  shoulders.  Charlemagne  spares  him, 
and  on  the  instant 

"  Bade  them  ordain  a  great  vat, 
To  baptize  the  Sowdan  in, 
And  look  what  he  shall  hat,  (be  called.) 

The  Sowdan,  unfortunately,  is  afflicted,  on  sight  of  this  great 
vat,  with  a  very  impious  species  of  hydrophobia ;  and  after  a 
great  many  vain  attempts  to  reconcile  him  to  baptism,  Charle- 
magne is  compelled  to  have  recourse  to  immediate  decapitation, 
as  the  only  alternative  that  had  occurred  either  to  him  or  to  any 
of  his  company.  "  It  was  done,"  quoth  the  romancer,  — 

"It  was  done  at  the  king's  command; 

His  soul  was  sent  to  hell, 
To  dance  in  that  sorry  land,  , 

With  devils  that  were  full  fell." 

Sir  Ferumbras,  being  invested  with  one  half  of  the  kingdom  of 
Spain,  prefers  settling  there  to  claiming  the  allegiance  of  his 
father's  pagan  subjects.  He  marries,  and  is  crowned  in  due 
form ;  and  becomes  on  the  whole  a  peaceable  character,  but 
amuses  himself  now  and  then  with  cutting  and  carving  both  his 
own  body  and  the  bodies  of  his  friends,  merely  for  the  pleasure 
of  exhibiting  the  wonderful  virtues  of  the  "  Balsam  of  Fiera- 
bras  "  —  the  receipt  for  concocting  the  which,  Don  Quixote  will 
give  us  in  proper  form  a  few  pages  farther  on. 

NOTE  LXIV.  p.  98. 
To  lead  a  life  like  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  frc.  —  Of  this  story 


DON   QUIXOTE.  335 

I  have  already  said  something.     The  vow  of  the  Marquis  runs 
thus  in  the  ballad : 

Juro  per  dios  verdadero 

De  nunca  peynar  mis  comas, 

Ni  los  barbas  mi  tocare, 

De  no  vestir  otras  ropas 

Ni  renovar  mi  calzare, 

Ni  las  annas  mi  quitare^ 

Sino  fuera  par  un  hora ; 

De  no  comer  en  mantele, 

Ni  a  mesa  mi  assentare 

Hasta  matar  a  Don  Carloto,  &c. 

See  a  preceding  note  on  the  story  of  Baldwin,  &c.     Sylva  de 
Romances,  F.  38. 

NOTE  LXV.  p.  99,  100. 

Saccrapante  — Albracca,  &c.  frc.  —  For  all  these,  I  refer  the 
reader  to  Boiardo  and  Ariosto. 


NOTE  LXVI.  p.  105. 

0  happy  age,  he  cried,  which  our  first  parents  calFd  the  age  of 
gold.  — This  beautiful  speech,  for  it  is  throughout  beautiful  and 
classical  in  the  highest  degree,  is  little  more  than  a  translation  of 
one  of  the  finest  passages  in  Tasso's  Aminta.  " 0'  be!?  eta"  fyc. 
end  of  act  first 

NOTE  LXVH.  p.  112. 

His  parents  being  ruled  by  him,  grew  rich  in  a  short  time,  $•<?.— 
Cervantes  here  has  in  his  eye  that  passage  in  Aristotle's  politics, 
where  the  story  is  told  of  a  Cretan  sage,  who,  being  reproached 
with  the  unproductiveness  of  his  philosophical  pursuits,  answered, 
he  could,  if  he  chose,  draw  an  abundant  revenue  from  his  sci- 
ence ;  and,  accordingly,  did  soon  realize  a  fortune,  in  conse- 
quence of  arranging  his  crops,  &c.,  so  as  to  suit  the  weather  he 
foresaw. 

NOTE  LXVHI.  p.  113. 

The  plays  which  the  young  lads  in  our  neighborhood  enacted  on 
Corpus  Christi  day.  — These  plays  were  of  the  same  nature  with 


336  NOTES   ON 

our  own  mysteries,  founded,  namely,  upon  subjects  taken  from 
holy  writ  Such  performances  were  usual  all  over  Europe  at 
this  time  on  Corpus  Christi  day,  and  several  other  festivals  of 
the  church. 

NOTE  LXIX.  p.  120. 

King  Arthur  never  died,  but  was  turned  into  a  crow  by  en- 
chantment; for  which  reason  the  people  of  Great  Britain  dare  not 
kill  a  crow,  fyc.  —  It  is  supposed  that  the  superstition  alluded  to 
in  the  text  had,  in  reality,  gone  so  far,  as  to  have  influence  at 
least  on  the  Welch  legislators ;  for  in  the  laws  of  Hoel  the  Good, 
we  find  a  heavy  fine  appointed  to  be  paid  by  every  person  who 
kills  a  raven,  (Leges  Hoeli  Boni,  Londini,  1730,  p.  334,)  and  I 
do  not  think  any  origin  of  such  a  law  could  be  pointed  out  either 
more  rational  or  more  probable,  than 'the  prevalence  of  this  reve- 
rential feeling  towards  Arthur.  The  inscription  on  the  tomb- 
stone of  Arthur  was,  (according  to  the  monkish  chronicles,  too 
often  rivals  of  the  romancers,) 

Hicjacet  Arthurus  Rex  quondam  Rexque  Futurut. 

NOTE  LXX.  p.  123. 

Some  knights  have  at  last  by  their  valor  been  raised  to  thrones 
and  empires,  ifc.  —  Of  such  elevations,  we  have  already  had  oc- 
casion to  notice  several  instances.  They  are  as  plenty  as  black- 
berries, in  the  romances.  Reynaldo  de  Montalban  became  Em- 
peror of  Trebizond,  (according  to  the  Sylva  de  Romances,  p.  76.) 
In  Esplandian,  c.  177,  we  are  told,  that  "El  emperador  casando 
a  su  hija  Leonorina  con  Esplandian  les  renuncio  todo  su  impe- 
rio."  Bernard  del  Carpio  "  se  casa  con  Olympia  haziendole  Rey 
de  IRLANDA,"  (Espinosa,  canto  33.)  Palme rin  d'Oliva  became 
Emperor  of  Constantinople.  Tirant  the  White  became  "  Prin- 
cipe y  Caesar  del  Imperio  de  Grecia,"  &c.  &c. 

NOTE  LXXI.  p.  124. 

You  never  commend  yourselves  to  God,  but  only  to  your  mis- 
tresses.—  The  same  reproach  was  once  made  to  Tirant  the 
White.  His  answer  was,  "  El  que  a  mucho^  sirve  no  sirve  a  nin- 
guno." —  Lib.  iii.  cap.  28. 


DON  QUIXOTE.  *  337 


NOTE  LXXn.  p.  128. 
Let  none  but  he  those  arms  deface. 
Who  will  Orlando's  fury  face,  §*c. 
See  Ariosto,  Canto  24. 


•  Nessun  le  muova 


Che  star  non  possa  con  Eoldan  a  pruova,  Sec. 

NOTE  LXXIH.  p.  128. 

I  draw  my  pedigree  from  the  Cachopines  of  Loredo.  —  Bowles, 
upon  the  authority  of  the  venerable  Sir  Isaac  Heard,  mentions 
that  an  old  house  was  pulled  down  at  St.  Andrews  not  very  long 
ago,  on  a  stone  in  the  interior  wall  of  which  appeared  this  in- 
scription : 

"Antes  falten  Robles  y  Enzinas 
Que  las  casas  Cachopinas." 

NOTE  LXXTV.  p.  143. 

Yanguesian  carriers.  — The  people  of  a  certain  district  in  Cas- 
tile, the  principal  village  of  which  is  Yanguas. 

NOTE  LXXV.  p.  148. 

Amadis  de  Gaul  in  the  power  of  Archelaus. —  See  the  Amadis, 
chap.  xix.  and  Ixix.  For  the  Knight  of  the  Sun,  mentioned  im- 
mediately after,  see  Palmerin  of  Oliva,  cap.  43. 

NOTE  LXXVI.  p.  149. 

The  laws  of  duels.  —  The  most  complete  code  of  duelling  is 
to  be  found  in  Maffei's  treatise,  Delia  Scienza  Cavalleresca. 
Most  minute  rules  are  there  laid  down  concerning  more  impro- 
bable contingencies  than  that  alluded  to  in  the  text.  Insults  are 
classed  and  subdivided,  as  accurately  as  crimes  against  life  and 
property  have  ever  been  in  statute-books ;  and  the  proper  quan- 
tum of  revenge  to  be  exacted  in  every  supposable  case,  is  laid 
down  with  all  the  gravity  of  a  Numa ;  e.  g.  when  you  are  insult- 
ed by  a  lame  man,  you  must  tie  up  your  leg  before  you  take  the 
field  against  him,  &c.  &c. 

NOTE  LXXVH  p.  151. 

The  Lovely  Obscure.  —  BELTENEBBOS  is  the  name  given  to 
VOL.  i.  22 


338  NOTEtf  ON 

• 

Amadis  in  all  the  romances,  on  occasion  of  this  adventure.  This 
has  been  often  cited  as  one  of  the  most  convincing  proofs  of  the 
Spanish,  or,  more  properly,  the  Peninsular  origin  of  the  romance ; 
but  in  the  old  French  Amadis,  it  is  Beltenebreux. 

NOTE  LXXVIH.  p.  153. 
Maritomes* — Malitorne  is  old  French  for  "  mechante  femme." 

NOTE  LXXIX.  p.  154. 
A  knight-errant !  cried  the  wench ;  pray  what  is  that  f 

lo  son  nutrito  sotto  il  Santo-  impero 

Del  magnanimo  Artus  real  e  pio, 

E  da  lui  fatto  errant*  cavaliero, 

Vo  cercando  aweniure  hor  quinci  hor  qtiindi. 

GYKONE,  L.  2.  75. 

NOTE  LXXX.p.  157. 

Nay,  some  do  not  stick  to  say,  Cid  Harriet  Benengeli  was  some- 
what akin  to  the  muleteer.  —  Cervantes  probably  means  to  insinu- 
ate, that  the  muleteer  was  himself  a  Moor,  one  of  the  many  who 
made  outward  profession  of  Christianity,  after  Mahometanism 
became  a  crime  in  Spain ;  which,  as  all  the  world  knows,  hap- 
pened in  Cervantes's  own  day,  to  the  great  injury  of  the  com- 
merce and  agriculture  of  the  Spanish  dominions.  Before  their 
total  expulsion,  it  would  seem  the  Moriscos  were  very  much  em- 
ployed as  carriers  and  muleteers  ;  for,  says  the  author  of  certain 
"  Discourses  on  the  Provision  of  the  Court,"  (never  published, 
but  quoted  by  Pellicer,  and  composed  in  1616,)  "  By  the  ex- 
pulsion of  the  Moors,  Spain  lost  about  four  or  five  thousand  car- 
riers, who  were  of  infinite  advantage  in  transporting  all  kinds  of 
merchandise.  Between  1608  and  1616,  the  charge  of  carriage 
from  Seville  to  Madrid  has  been  more  than  tripled.  In  Tiein- 
blo,  (a  little  town  fourteen  leagues  from  Madrid,)  I  remember 
eighteen  carriers,  and  now  there  is  not  one.  There  used  to  be 
not  less  than  five-and-twenty  at  Talamea,  (forty-eight  leagues 
from  Madrid,)  and  now  there  is  only  one  in  the  whole  place." 

NOTE  LXXXI.  p.  165. 
The  enchanted  Moor  of  this  castle.  — The  fair  Rosaliana,  in 


DON  QUIXOTE.  339 

Belianis  of  Greece,  uses  these  words:  "Acabad  de  matar  aquel- 
los  malos  gigantes,  por  que  en  el  entretanto  que  alguno  dellos 
fuere  vivo  no  scran  deshechos  los  encantamentos  de  este  castillo." 
L.  3.  c.  9. 

NOTE  LXXXH.  p.  172. 

You  must  excuse  me  from  paying  any  thing ;  it  was  never 
known  that  knights-errant  paid  in  any  inn  whatever.  — There  is  a 
contrary  authority  in  Pulci.  Morg.  Magg.  C.  21. 

Orlando  che  sentito  ha  gia  il  romore 
Presto  s'arma  per  an  dare  a  vedere: 
Ma  1'Ostier  suo  per  non  pigliar  errore, 
Voile  che  pegno  lasciasse  il  destrire 
Che  non  ista  delli  Scotti  alia  fede. 
Orlando  scoppia  di  duolo  e  di  pena, 
Ma  da  pagar  non  aveva  moneta: 
Che  solea  sempre  dor  bastioni  o  spade 
AW  Oste,  qttando  i  danw  gli  mancavarto. 

NOTE  LXXXm.  p.  179. 

Emperor  of  the  vast  island  of  Taprobana,  §•<?.—- The  most  of 
the  fine-sounding  names  in  this  catalogue,  are  to  be  found  (or, 
at  least,  something  like  them)  in  the  Romances.  The 

" utmost  Indian  isle,  Taprobane," 

is  one  of  the  few  places  enumerated,  which  it  is  worth  while  to 
seek  for  on  any  map. 


-"  Such  forces  met  not,  nor  so  wide  a  camp, 


When  Agrican,  with  all  his  northern  powers 

Besieged  Albracca,  as  romances  tell, 

The  city  of  Gallaphrone,  from  whence  to  win 

The  fairest  of  her  sex,  Angelica, 

Her  daughter  sought  by  many  pro  west  knights, 

Both  Paynim  and  the  peers  of  Charlemagne." 

NOTE  LXXXIV.  p.  198. 

Knight  of  the  Woful  Figure,  frc.  — "  Caballero  de  la  triste 
figura,"  is  translated  by  Shelton,  "  Knight  of  the  ill-favored 
face ; "  but  Smollett's  "  Knight  of  the  Sorrowful  Countenance," 


340  NOTES   ON 

expresses  far  better  than  either  of  these  the  sense  of  Cervantes. 
At  a  certain  chivalric  spectacle  given  by  Queen  Mary  of  Hun- 
gary, the  Count  D'Aremberg  jousted  under  the  title  of  "  Knight 
of  the  Griphon,"  with  Don  Juan  de  Saavedra,  who  was  arrayed 
in  sable  armor,  and  styled  "  the  Sorrowful  Knight." 

NOTE  LXXXV.  p.  199. 

Remember  what  befell  the  Cid  Ruy  Diaz,  when  he  broke  to 
pieces  the  chair  in  the  Pope's  presence,  for  which  he  was  excom- 
municated. —  Don  Quixote  alludes  very  inaccurately  to  one  of 
the  most  evidently  apocryphal  of  all  the  Cid's  achievements. 
The  ballad  in  which  the  story  is  told,  must  have  been  composed 
at  some  period  when  the  precedence  of  France  and  Spain  was 
matter  of  courtly  dispute ;  therefore  long  after  the  time  when 
the  best  of  the  Spanish  ballads  concerning  the  Cid  were  framed. 
1  shall  translate,  notwithstanding, 

THE   EXCOMMUNICATION    OF   THE    CID. 

I. 

It  was  when  from  Spain  across  the  main  the  Cid  had  come  to  Rome, 
He  chanced  to  see  chairs  four  and  three  beneath  Saint  Peter's  dome. 
"  Now  tell,  I  pray,  what  chairs  be  they  ?  "    "  Seven  kings  do  sit  thereon, 
As  well  doth  suit,  all  at  the  foot  of  the  holy  father's  throne. 

n. 

"  The  Pope  he  sitteth  above  them  all,  that  they  may  kiss  his  toe, 
Below  the  keys  the  Flower-de-lys  doth  make  a  gallant  show; 
For  his  great  puissance,  the  King  of  France  next  to  the  Pope  may  sit, 
The  rest  more  low,  all  in  a  row,  as  doth  their  station  fit." 

III. 

"  Ha ! "  quoth  the  Cid,  "  now  God  forbid !  it  is  a  shame,  I  wiss, 
To  see  the  Castle  *  planted  beneath  the  Flower-de-lys.  f 
No  harm,  I  hope,  good  father  Pope  —  although  I  move  thy  chair." 
— In  pieces  small  he  kick'd  it  all,  ('twas  of  the  ivory  fair.) 

IV. 

The  Pope's  own  seat  he  from  his  feet  did  kick  it  far  away, 
And  the  Spanish  chair  he  planted  upon  its  place  that  day; 

*  The  arms  of  Castile.  t  The  arms  of  France. 


D0]f  QUIXOTE.  341 

Above  them  all  he  planted  it,  and  laugh'd  right  bitterly, 
Looks  sour  and  bad  I  trow  he  had,  as  grim  as  grim  might  be. 

V. 

Now  when  the  Pope  was  aware  of  this,  he  was  an  angry  man, 
His  lips  that  night,  with  solemn  rite,  pronounced  the  awful  ban ; 
The  curse  of  God,  who  died  on  rood,  was  on  that  sinner's  head  — 
To  hell  and  woe  man's  soul  must  go  if  once  that  curse  be  said. 

VI. 

I  wot,  when  the  Cid  was  aware  of  this,  a  woful  man  was  he, 
At  dawn  of  day,  he  came  to  pray  at  the  blessed  father's  knee : 
"Absolve  me,  blessed  father,  have  pity  upon  me, 
Absolve  my  soul,  and  penance  I  for  my  sin  will  dree." — 

vn. 

"  Who  is  this  sinner,"  quoth  the  Pope,  "  that  at  my  foot  doth  kneel?  " 
— "I  am  Eodrigo  Diaz,  a  poor  Baron  of  Castile." 

Much  marvell'd  all  were  in  the  hall,  when  that  name  they  heard  him  say, 
— "  Rise  up,  rise  up,"  the  Pope  he  said,  "  I  do  thy  guilt  away." 

vm. 

"  I  do  thy  guilt  away,"  he  said,  "  aud  my  curse  I  blot  it  out — 

God  save  Kodrigo  Diaz,  my  Christian  champion  stout; 

I  trow,  if  I  had  known  thee,  my  grief  it  had  been  sore, 

To  curse  Buy  Diaz  de  Bivar ;  God's  scourge  upon  the  Moor." 

NOTE  LXXXVI.  p.  209. 

The  shepherd  and  his  goats  got  at  last  to  the  river  Guadiana. — 
This  story  (originally  told  by  Petrus  Alphonsus)  may  be  found 
in  its  most  perfect  form  in  the  Cento  Novella  Antiche. 

"  H  favolatore  incommencio  a  dire  una  favola  de  uno  villano 
che  avea  suoi  cento  bisante ;  ando  a  uno  Mercato  a  comperire 
berbeci  ed  ebbene  due  per  bisante.  Tornando  con  le  sue  pecore 
uno  flume  che  avea  passa  era  molto  cresciuto.  Stando  a  la  riva 
brigossi  d'accioire  in  questo  modo  che  vide  uno  pescator  povero 
con  uno  suo  burchiello  a  dismisura  picciolino,  si  che  non  vi  capea 
se  non  il  villano  ed  una  pecora  per  volto.  Lo  villano  commen- 
cio  a  passare  con  una  berbice,  e  comincio  a  vocare  il  fuime  era 
largo.  Voga  e  passa.  E  lo  favolatore  non  dicea  pui :  E  Mes- 
sere  Azzolino  disse ;  chefai  ?  via  oltre.  Lo  favolatore  rispose, 
Messere  lasciate  passare  le  pecore,  pdl  conteremo  lo  fatto  ;  che 
le  pecore  no  sarebbono  passate  in  uno  anno,  si  che  in  tanto  puote 
bene  adagio  dormire." —  Nov.  xxx. 


342  NOTES   ON 

NOTE  LXXXVII.  p.  220. 

Mambrino's  Helmet.  —  I  refer  to  Orlando  Furioso  passim,  for 
the  whole  history  of  the  enchanted  and  invulnerable  head-piece, 
originally  the  property  of  King  Mambrino. 

NOTE  LXXXVm.  p.  226. 

"  Well,  then,"  quoth  Sancho,  "  I  have  been  thinking  to  myself 
of  late  how  little  is  to  be  gained  by  hunting  up  and  down,"  fyc.  — 
The  reader  of  romance  does  not  need  to  be  told  how  faithfully 
Don  Quixote,  in  reply  to  this  saying  of  his  squire,  has  abridged 
the  main  story  of  many  a  ponderous  folio.  The  imaginary  ca- 
reer of  glory  which  he  unfolds  before  the  eyes  of  Sancho,  is 
paralleled  almost  ad  literatim  in  the  romance  of  Sir  Degore,  so 
admirably  analyzed  by  Mr.  Ellis.  The  conclusion  of  Belianis  is 
almost  exactly  the  same  sort  of  adventure. 

NOTE  LXXXIX.  p.  243. 

He  is  that  notorious  rogue  Gines  de  Passamonte.  —  Cervantes 
makes  even  the  galley-slaves  play  upon  Don  Quixote's  foible ; 
for  Passamonte  is  the  name  of  a  gigantic  brother  of  the  illus- 
trious Giant  Morgante,  slain  by  Orlando  in  the  Morgante  Mag- 
giore.  Gines  pretends  to  have  written  his  own  life  while  in  the 
galleys.  The  preliminary  fiction  of  Guzman  d'Alfarache  is  of 
the  same  species. 

NOTE  XC.  p.  244. 

Lazaritto  de  Tormes.  — About  the  most  popular  book  in  Spain, 
at  the  time  when  Cervantes  wrote,  was  the  Life  of  Lazarillo  de 
Tormes,  a  work  of  very  extraordinary  genius,  written  at  a  very 
early  period  of  his  career,  by  the  great  Spanish  historian,  poet, 
soldier,  and  statesman,  Don  Diego  de  Mendoza.  It  was  the  first 
comic  romance  that  had  appeared  in  the  modern  world,  or  at 
least  the  first  that  had  ever  made  any  noise  in  the  world.  The 
species  of  tricks  and  adventures  in  which  Lazarillo  is  engaged, 
had  indeed  been  long  in  great  favor  among  the  Spaniards,  but 
Mendoza  first  embalmed  such  materials  in  the  elegancies  of  dic- 
tion, and  adorned  them  with  the  interest  of  an  artificial  narra- 
tive. The  contrast  his  shrewd  and  humorous  representation  of 
human  life  affords  to  the  pompous  romances  of  chivalry,  which 


DON   QUIXOTE.  343 

then  formed  almost  the  sole  reading  of  the  Spaniards,  is  such, 
that  no  one  can  be  surprised  with  the  great  success  of  this  first 
effort  of  Mendoza's  genius.  Lazarillo  de  Tonnes  was  immedi- 
ately translated  into  Italian  and  French,  and  both  abroad  and  at 
home  gave  birth  to  innumerable  imitations.  The  best  of  all 
these  is,  without  doubt,  the  History  of  Guzman  d'Alfarache,  com- 
monly called  the  Spanish  Rogue,  which  made  its  appearance  a 
few  years  before  the  publication  of  Don  Quixote.  Like  its  pro- 
totype, this  book  became  exceedingly  popular  all  over  Europe ; 
and  there  soon  appeared  (among  many  others)  an  excellent  ver- 
sion of  it  in  English,  which  ought,  without  doubt,  to  be  reprinted 
in  its  original  shape.  From  these  books,  Le  Sage  derived  a  great 
many  of  the  best  stories  with  which  we  have  all  been  made  so 
familiar  by  his  Gil  Bias  and  Batchelor  of  Salamanca.  Indeed, 
in  Le  Sage's  own  abridgment  of  Guzman  d'Alfarache,  many  of 
the  best  stories  in  the  whole  book*  are  omitted,  for  no  other  rea- 
son but  that  Le  Sage  had  already  appropriated  them  in  his  Gil 
Bias.  Mendoza's  rich  and  beautiful  style,  however,  gives  a 
charm  to  his  Lazarillo,  which  the  dry  and  caustic  Aleman  (the 
author  of  Guzman)  could  never  rival.  Mendoza  composed 
poems  of  many  sorts,  satires,  lyrics,  epistles,  sonnets,  pastorals, 
and  ballads;  but,  next  to  his  Lazarillo  de  Tonnes,  which  he 
wrote  before  he  left  college  at  Salamanca,  his  most  celebrated 
work  is  his  History  of  the  War  of  Granada,  which  he  composed 
towards  the  decline  of  his  life,  and  which  was  not  suffered  to  be 
printed  until  thirty  years  after  his  death,  in  consequence  of  the 
hardihood  of  some  of  the  opinions  expressed  in  it  With  the 
exception  of  Machiavelli  and  Guicciardini,  there  is  perhaps  no 
modern  writer  who  has  produced  any  thing  so  nearly  approach- 
ing to  the  pure  and  classical  character  of  the  great  historical 
monuments  left  us  by  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  The  life  of 
Mendoza  himself  was  a  very  extraordinary  one.  He  owed  his 
rise  to  letters,  and  he  never  ceased  to  cultivate  them  during  the 
whole  of  a  very  long  life ;  and  yet  he  was  engaged  continually 
in  public  business,  and  even  bore  the  first  part  in  many  of  the 
most  important  transactions  of  his  time.  He  was  taken  from 
college  by  Charles  V.,  soon  after  he  had  published  his  Lazarillo 
de  Tonnes,  and  sent  ambassador  to  Venice,  where  he  greatly 
distinguished  himself  in  the  management  of  several  very  difficult 
intrigues.  He  afterwards  represented  the  person  of  the  same 


344  NOTES   ON  DON  QUIXOTE. 

monarch  at  the  Council  of  Trent,  and  still  later  at  the  Court  of 
Home.  In  the  Italian  wars  of  those  days  he  acquired  the  cha- 
racter of  a  skilful  and  decided  commander.  He  was  governor 
of  Sienna ;  and  from  thence,  it  may  almost  be  said,  he  adminis- 
tered the  whole  affairs  of  Italy  during  a  period  of  six  years. 
After  harmony  was  restored  between  the  Papal  See  and  his  own 
prince,  Mendoza  was  appointed  to  the  high  office  of  gonfalonier 
of  the  church,  and  in  that  capacity  was  commander-in-chief  of 
all  the  ecclesiastical  forces.  He  retired  to  Spain  on  the  accession 
of  Philip  IL,  who  does  not  appear  to  have  treated  him  with  the 
same  confidence  as  his  father,  inasmuch  as,  for  the  most  part,  the 
rest  of  his  life  was  passed  in  comparative  privacy  and  literary 
leisure.  Nevertheless,  he  accompanied  Philip  into  France,  and 
was  present  at  the  great  battle  of  St.  Quintin,  in  1557.  Nor  had 
old  age  any  power  to  check  the  fervor  of  his  spirit,  if  we  may 
put  faith  in  some  of  the  anecdotes  commonly  recorded  of  him : 
For  example,  we  are  told,  that  "  long  after  his  hairs  were  gray," 
he  quarrelled  with  a  nobleman  who  was  his  rival  in  some  amour, 
and  coming  to  high  words  one  day  in  the  presence-chamber  of 
Philip,  expressed  himself  with  so  much  scorn,  that  his  adversary 
laid  his  hand  on  his  poniard.  Mendoza,  observing  this,  seized 
the  man,  who  was  far  younger  than  himself,  and  flung  him  furi- 
ously over  the  balcony  into  the  street.  Altogether,  the  career 
of  Mendoza  was  like  that  of  Cervantes  himself,  a  striking  exam- 
ple, not  only  of  the  versatility  of  genius,  but  of  the  benefit 
which  literature,  in  many  of  its  finest  walks,  may  derive  from 
being  cultivated  by  the  active  and  energetic  spirits  of  the  world. 

NOTE  XCI.  p.  252. 

"Methinks"  quoth  Sancho,  "  /  already  hear  the  arrows  whizzing 
about  my  ears"  —  It  appears  that  when  the  officers  of  the  Holy 
Brotherhood  found  any  one  in  the  act  of  guilt,  or,  as  we  express 
it  in  Scotland,  red-hand,  their  custom  was  to  tie  him  to  a  stake, 
and  shoot  at  him  with  their  arrows  till  he  died.  "  Sic  deprehen- 
sum,"  says  Munsterus,  (in  his  Cosmographia,  p.  60,)  "vivum 
palo  alligatum  sagittis  conficiunt."  Charles  V.,  by  an  edict,  di- 
rected that  the  man  should  be  hanged  first,  and  then  shot  at  in 
this  manner. 

END    OF   VOL.   I. 


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